A World Without Shadows
by maximasdecimas
Summary: Lowtown is a dangerous place at night. When Merrill is attacked by thugs, Hawke comes to save her, but Merrill is shaken by her ordeal. Can Hawke make everything better with a smile, and save the day twice in one night? What will come of it? A story of love between Merrill and Hawke, spanning three acts. Some quest action, much more romance! Mage F!Hawke/Merrill
1. Chapter 1

**A World Without Shadows**

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><p><em>So... I decided to finally put in an author note here, six months after beginning the story. Didn't have one when I first posted it, mostly because I've never written a fanfiction story before; in fact, outside of schoolwork, this is the first story I've ever written. And it was originally only meant to run for the first three chapters, just a little snippet of an idea I had one day which refused to leave me alone. I wanted to see what I could do with it, so I had a go and posted. After getting over the shock and (very pleasant) surprise of being asked for more, I decided to try and take the story further, and... it sort of grew from there. A lot. And will continue to grow, unless fell circumstances prevent me completing it (e.g. untimely, tragic death at a young age, or possibly just a massive head trauma rendering me incapable of coherent or complex sentences. Or a lot of flaming, heart-and-soul crushing reviews. Or if the machines attempt to take over and enslave or kill all organic life-forms, as usual. Or something). Otherwise, I plan to see this through to the end, now. <em>

_This is a fanfiction devoted to the relationship between the utterly, preciously adorable Merrill and the lovably sarcastic (female) Hawke, since they are my absolute favourite pairing, I love both of them to pieces and, while the in-game romance is sweet and lovely, there is simply not enough of it to satisfy me, so I wanted to try and expand on it. So it's much, much more focused on their growing relationship rather than recounting all the events and quests in the game. It will have some, of course, but mostly I'm just trying to add more romance stuff to satisfy myself and supplement the game, I guess. As this story formed in leaps and bounds without a story plan to speak of when I began writing it, the chapter lengths vary, at least at first. So bear with me and take your time (because it has gotten quite long now, I know). I've never really been a fan of first person stories, strangely enough, but this story is in first person present tense (it wasn't going to be, but then it somehow ended up that way... like I said, no story plan, but it seemed to work, so I went with it) and switches POV from Merrill to Hawke. You'll know whose thoughts you're reading when you see 'xxx M xxx' or 'xxx H xxx' for Merrill or Hawke, respectively. Oh, and in case you haven't noticed, this story is rated M, for some violence, (tasteful) lovescenes and various adult themes._

_That's about it, really, except to say I hope you will enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it. _

_Also, standard disclaimer - Bioware owns the Dragon Age world and the wonderful characters who live in it. I just play with them._

_And of course, let me know what you think (if you feel so inclined.) Thanks for giving this story a chance,_

_maximasdecimas _

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><p>xxx M xxx<p>

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><p>By the Dread Wolf! If I'd known I was going to get so lost on my way home from the market, I would have left four hours earlier! But, since I was only there for an hour, that would have meant I would have left before I arrived, in which case I may as well have just stayed home, and I did so want to see the night market, with all the lanterns and torches and people wandering around bumping into things. It wouldn't have been just me for a change. Ah, well, at least I got to see it, and now I see the Hanged Man, so I think I know where I am. Thank the Creators! It shouldn't take me too much longer to get home from here. My feet are killing me. I wish I'd worn shoes with soles, now.<p>

It is a hot night, so I am not wearing my chainmail, just a long tunic, and I left my staff at my house; I didn't want to bring it with me just to go to the market, after all. I hardly think I'll need it, though. Varric has told me I shouldn't walk alone at night, but I'm not worried; nothing ever happens. I'm thinking about Hawke, as usual, as I make my way home; I can't seem to keep her out of my head! Not that I mind, of course. I like thinking about her, but when I'm with her, it gets awfully distracting. I look at her and think about the things I've been thinking about her, and then I blush like mad, and babble like a fool, stumbling over my words like a da'len who hasn't quite mastered talking. She's so beautiful and clever and good, and she says the funniest things! I wish I could say funny things too; I mean clever things, not just rambling, foolish things that make everyone laugh at me. That's really not the quite same thing. It seems to happen a lot when I'm around Hawke, unfortunately. She must think I'm such an idiot.

As I pass by the Hanged Man, I see a group of humans, all men, loitering outside. One of them elbows another of his fellows and points at me, and his friend looks over and sneers. He puts his hands behind his ears so that his two first fingers on either hand stick out above the curved rims, and he makes a face and jeers; "Hey, little sharp-ear, a pretty little knife-ear!" I pick up my pace nervously. I can handle myself in a fight with Hawke and the others, but we are usually out on the Wounded Coast, or inside, or underground, somewhere where there's no witnesses to our use of magic. Apart from whoever's attacking us, of course, but, well, they usually aren't very chatty by the time we're through with them. Here, alone, I can't risk it; I don't want to end up in the Gallows. Or headless, if the Templars catch wind of my blood magic. They'd cut me down on the spot, if they knew what I was, and I'd really rather they didn't. I'd look pretty silly without a head.

I turn into an alley, and find myself staring at a dead end. Oh. Well, this isn't right at all. If only I had thought to bring my ball of twine. I hear a harsh bray of laughter behind me and turn to find the group from the outside Hanged Man blocking the alleyway, nudging each other and looking at me. I try to keep walking past them, but they surround me, all of them staring like wolves stalking a halla. Suddenly I'm filled with dread and terror, I look wildly around for an escape but there is none: they are all around me. I reach for my well of power but realise I can't take them all, not without my staff; some are sure to escape and run for the Templars. I hesitate for an instant, and in that instant I'm lost, as one of them grabs me from behind and drags me deeper into the alley, the others following and laughing.

The man holding me has his hand over my mouth, and his other hand grasps both my wrists tight, twisting my arms up behind my back, hurting me. His breathing is hot in my ear as the other brutes quickly gather around me, closing us off from the view of the street. Not that anyone passing by would risk their necks taking on a pack of thugs just to stop them from having their fun with some elf girl. I struggle as hard as I can, but the shem grasping me is big, and he has no trouble holding me still as he drags me to the ground, still gripping me from behind. The one who taunted me in front of the Hanged Man steps forward from the rest of the group and gives me a swift, vicious kick in the ribs. Pain explodes in my side, and I cease my thrashing, trying desperately to breathe in enough air with my mouth still covered.

"Pretty little knife-ear," he snickers. He kneels across my body as the brute holding me laughs cruelly into my ear. "Nice piece of fresh meat! Just the way I like it, young, tender and juicy. Time for a taste, eh, boys? Get an eyeful of this!" He puts his hands to the neck of my tunic and rips it open right down the front, exposing my body to all eyes. "Oh, yes, we've lucked out tonight! Just look at that," he sniggers, running his hand over me. I flinch and try to struggle again but my arms are still pinned behind me, crushed against the shem restraining me. With one filthy hand still wandering over my bare skin, the man before me takes a knife in his other and cuts away my underclothing, and I whimper in shame and fear. My body is now completely exposed, naked and utterly vulnerable. The beasts all laugh and hoot in appreciation, and the man on top of me starts unbuckling his belt. "Me first." The one behind me still has his hand over my mouth, and he moves his other hand to grip me around the chest, hand on my breast, fingers grasping, groping, bruising my flesh, and it _hurts_, it hurts so badly... The man above me forces my legs apart with his knee and starts pulling down his trousers. Oh, Mythal, no, _please_... I can't stop myself and I wail in helpless terror, but the sound is muffled by the rough hand clamped over my mouth. The bastard holding me gives another malicious laugh as he grips my breast even more tightly, more painfully. The hand on my mouth slips a little and I twist my head quickly, sinking my teeth into the meaty flesh of his hand. He curses and pulls it violently away and I take the chance offered, drawing one sharp, desperate breath.

I scream her name. A futile hope, I don't know where I am, why would she be near, how could she hear me? Yet, in my desperation and fear, I call for her to save me, even as I know it's hopeless. The brute who is about to take me snarls and backhands me viciously across the face, so hard that for a moment my vision goes black, but I manage to cry out once more before the other slaps his hand back over my mouth, one more time, just one word:

"HAWKE!"

And suddenly she is there, a whirlwind of death as she slashes the throat of the one who hit me, then turns her blade on the brute holding me down. She pulls me to my feet without looking at me and stands protectively in front of me, dropping into a battle crouch, shielding me from the remaining men, her eyes never leaving them. One of them starts toward her, his face twisted in anger, but she snarls something at him, as fierce as Fen'Harel, and he stops in his tracks. I don't know what she said, my mind isn't working properly, did not register her words, but whatever it was, it's effective. She is dressed only in a light, short robe, as though ready for bed; no chainmail or armour, not even boots, and she hasn't got her staff, either, her only weapon is her belt knife, but the men freeze, then begin to back away. Perhaps there was something in her face, her fierce eyes, that promised death. The men leave us at a run, scrambling over each other to get away from her.

She turns once she's sure they're gone, and looks at me. Her brilliant eyes are blazing like blue flame as they gaze into mine, concern and fear and rage warring unrestrained over her beautiful face. Her short, night-black hair falls across her eyes. I realise she is saying something, and my mind struggles to process her words.

"Merrill? Merrill, are you alright? Are you hurt?"

I don't answer her. I can't speak, I can't move at all. I'm frozen, clutching my ruined tunic to me, trembling. Hawke notices the condition of my clothing, and she makes a sound, like a cry of outrage and distress combined. She quickly takes off her robe and pulls it over my head, taking the remnants of my tunic from my hands and letting it fall as she dresses me in the clothes off her own back.

"Hawke," is all I can manage to say as she hugs me close. It's all I ever want to say again. Her arms are tight around me, her hand is stroking my hair. This is real, she's here. Everything will be alright now. I suddenly find myself sobbing, quiet sobs of relief, at first, but they come harder and deeper and I can't stop. I suppose I must be in shock. Suddenly my legs won't hold me anymore, and I sink to the ground. She follows me down, she doesn't let go, cradling me against her and stroking my back soothingly. I cling to her. I can't stop shaking, can't stop my tears. She lets me cry into her shoulder, rocking me gently and murmuring soft reassurances, telling me I am safe now, that she will never let anyone hurt me like this again, never.

Eventually my sobs subside, and she strokes my hair back from my face. She smiles gently at me. "You're safe now, Merrill, I promise."

I look up at her. "I-I know, Hawke. You're here. M-ma serannas, lethallan." The tears have left a tremor in my voice, but I feel calm now, safe. No one can hurt me. Hawke is here.

My hands are warm against the skin of her back, and I blush fiercely, suddenly realising that she is dressed in nothing but her underclothes as she presses me against her. She seems aware of this, but she doesn't seem to care at all. Her concern is only for me as she stands, pulling me gently to my feet, never letting go of me once, holding me close and safe.

"It's over now. My house isn't far: let's go and get changed, and I'll take you back to the alienage. I will stay with you at your house tonight, if that's all right? I don't think you should be alone." I nod gratefully, unable to speak, and she looks down at me, her soulfire eyes tender and fierce and caring and sad all at once. Keeping one arm wrapped around me, she lifts her other hand and tenderly wipes away my tears, then leans down and oh so gently kisses my forehead. "I will always keep you safe. I promise."


	2. Chapter 2

xxx H xxx

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><p>"Come on, Merrill, I'll walk you home." I say gently, wrapping my arm tight around her slender shoulders as we step back out into the Lowtown night. She nods silently, and looks over her shoulder to wave goodbye to Mother, who smiles at her kindly, encouragingly, though her eyes are filled with sorrow and worry. Gamlen and Carver are both elsewhere tonight, perhaps at the Hanged Man (or the Rose), which is really a mercy. Not that they wouldn't be concerned, but it is just easier on Merrill that they are not here. The way she must be feeling right now, the less men around, the better. Praise Andraste that Mother was home, although I suppose it would be highly unlikely for her to be anywhere else at this hour. Mother was wonderful tonight; she knew just what to do, what to say to Merrill, which was more than I could manage, I'm sure. This wasn't a situation I could fix with a clever quip or a sarcastic comment. As soon as I walked in with Merrill, Mother took one look at her and knew what had happened, and she was instantly in protective maternal mode. She folded Merrill into her arms and spoke calm and reassuring words, much better than anything I came up with. She even dressed Merrill in a shirt and a pair of leggings that had belonged to Bethany; I thought nothing in the world would make her part with those. The gesture wasn't lost on Merrill; her eyes got all big and misty, and she thanked Mother over and over, promising to wash them and bring them back as soon as she could. Mother smiled at that, and told her to keep them, saying they suited her.<p>

As we walk out the door and down the street, I keep to her left, blocking her view of the alleyway and the two broken bodies of the bastards who hurt her. I almost wish I hadn't killed them so quickly and cleanly; vermin like that deserve to suffer. I don't know what she was doing out this late by herself, but this is no time to lecture, and after this, I doubt she'll need it. I will ask Varric to set a closer watch on her, though. It was only blind chance that this happened anywhere near my house; if she had been only a few streets further away, I'd never have heard her cry out for me, and then... I can't bear to think about it, and I hug her closer as we walk toward the elves' part of town. I'm glad Gamlen's house is so close by. I feel a silent snarl twist my features; those bastards must have been purposefully waiting for an elf to brutalise on her way back to the alienage. What sort of a monster do you have to be to do something like that? Void take them! I hate the way that elves are treated, I always have. It doesn't make sense; how are they any different to humans or dwarves? Why in the Maker's name are we any better? But I don't know how to change the world. All I can do is try my hardest to help the elves in my own life, however I can. It's a start.

At the end of the street we turn left towards stairs leading down to the alienage. Merrill hasn't said a word, but I don't expect her to. She put on a brave face for Mother, but I know she must still be shaken; I can feel her trembling where she is pressed against my side. I steal a glance at her from the corner of my eye as I scan around us for threats. Her beautiful leaf-green eyes are downcast, staring at nothing as she walks along, her bare feet hardly making a sound on the hard packed earth. Her skin is pale, much more so than usual, the intricate lines of her vallaslin tattoos standing out starkly in the moonlight. She has her arms folded around her chest, hugging herself tightly. She looks so small, so young, so sad. Maker. It kills me a little, seeing her like this. From the moment I met her, so friendly and eager, bright and beautiful, I felt something stir deep within my heart. Everything about her resonated within my spirit and my soul. Her shining, compassionate eyes. Her lilting, musical voice. Her grace in battle when the dead rose around us, so powerful, so swift, and the sweet realisation that she was a mage, like me.

I saw the courage and the passion and the goodness in her soul when she told me of her intent to save her people, and I saw the hurt in her eyes at the scornful words and looks of her clan mates as we left the camp. I knew then I would do anything to protect her, to keep her from all harm, and I feel a pain deep in my chest now at the thought of her so hurt. And I wasn't there. I wasn't with her, and I was almost too late to save her.

The harsh, raucous laughter of men reaches us from the streets below, and Merrill flinches, a small whimper escaping her, her body freezing in remembered fear. A fist clenches around my heart, and I wrap her tightly in my arms.

"It's all right, Merrill, I'm here, I've got you. You're safe," I say softly into her ear, holding her close.

"Safe," she whispers, and relaxes a little. "Yes. _You_ are here." I guess I managed to say something right.

We keep walking down the steps and into the alienage, past the magnificent old tree in the centre of the square, past a small, deserted market stall to the door of her small house. I lead her inside, closing and securing the door as best I can before summoning my elemental magic and lighting the fire, the hanging lamps and every candle in the small house with swift motions of my hands. An incautious display of magic, perhaps, but at this moment I don't care. She needs a world without shadows tonight. She stands silent in the middle of the room, still hugging herself, watching me, the firelight playing across her features, dancing in her eyes. I light the last candle and turn to look at her, and she graces me with a small, sweet smile.

"Thank you, Hawke. For everything. I... thank you." She turns to gaze into the fire, and it is then I notice the large, black bruise beneath her eye that is starting to spread across her cheek. My breath catches in my throat. How could anyone do this to her? Sweet Maker, I wish I'd killed them all. I go to her and take her head gently in my hands, smoothing back her hair from her face so I can see all of it. She looks at me sidelong as I tilt her head.

"Hawke?" she says questioningly. "What are you doing?"

"You have a bruise. One of them hit you, didn't he?" She nods silently under my hands. I mutter an oath under my breath and reach deep inside me, to my well of power, channelling the mana into my hands to examine the injury. I hiss when I see the extent of the damage. I release her and take her hand, leading her over to sit on the bench before the fire. "Your cheekbone is fractured. It must have been a hard blow to cause this much damage, I'm surprised you didn't pass out."

"I nearly did, I think, but... I couldn't let myself. They were so angry when I screamed... If you hadn't come..."

Her eyes widen and she falls silent as the memory seizes her. I should say something, distract her.

"I will have to heal it right away or it will swell, and you may experience numbness below your eye or problems with your vision," I explain as I take her head in my hands again. "I'm not as strong a healer as Anders, but I pass. It's best if you are sitting for this; it might hurt a bit." She just nods again, her eyes trusting. I call on the magic of creation, let it flow through me, direct it through my fingertips and into the battered girl beneath my hands, willing bone to fuse, flesh to mend. Merrill breathes in sharply once, but then is still and quiet. There is still a bruise beneath her pale skin when I'm done, but it isn't so dark, the bone is healed and there will be no swelling.

"There we go. I've done my best. You'll still have a mark, but it will fade quickly." She touches a hand to her face, gingerly running her fingers over her cheek, and her beautiful eyes meet mine.

"Thank you, Hawke. It feels much better now."

I notice her other arm is still wrapped around her chest. "Did they hurt you anywhere else?"

She looks away, her eyes screwing shut, and that is answer enough.

I rest my hand on her arm, gently. "Show me where." She doesn't respond, doesn't move. It hurts, seeing her so quiet, so clearly distressed. "Merrill. It's alright. Let me help you. Let me see."

She is still for a moment more, then slowly she unbuttons her shirt and opens it, exposing her side. I breathe in sharply, and my hand flies to my mouth. There is a huge, dark bruise spread across her ribs, a sure sign that at least one of them is fractured, but what makes my blood run cold is the darker bruise above it on the tender flesh of her breast; the unmistakeable imprint of a hand. "Oh, Merrill, I'm so sorry I let this happen," I whisper. She looks at me sharply at this, eyes wide.

"Hawke, what do you mean? You did not let this happen, I was alone, how could you have prevented it? You stopped them, you saved me." _You should not have been alone, I should have been with you. I should always be with you_, I think, but I can't say it, not now, when she's so hurt, so overwrought. For now, I will be whatever she needs me to be. She needs a friend at this moment, someone to trust, to be there for her with no expectations, no demands. I can be simply that; a friend.

She also needs a healer, and luckily I can be that, too. I give her reassuring smile and reach out my hands, stopping just short of touching her injuries. "May I?" She nods, and I place my hands gently over her bruises, examining and healing first her cracked ribs, and then moving delicately to the more sensitive, cruel injury above them. I apply myself harder to this bruise, ensuring that the mark is completely gone. It is too harsh a reminder to allow any trace of it to remain. Once again, she endures the hurt bravely, and when I finish, she shocks me by kissing me on the cheek; something she has never done before. She smiles faintly at the surprise on my face, and gives a little shrug.

"I always wanted to do that. You're too good to me, lethallan." Lethallan. She called me that before. I'm not sure what it means, but it sounds nice. Merrill's voice always sounds so beautiful whenever she says something in elven. I smile back.

"Maybe I should heal you more often, whether you need it or not," I tease gently. "If you'll keep paying me in kisses." Her smile widens a fraction, and she ducks her head. I think she is blushing, though it may just be the heat of the fire. I decide to risk a little more gentle teasing. "In fact, I think my price just went up. One healing, two kisses; one for each cheek."

"Maybe it should be four kisses, then," she says, smiling shyly.

"Well done, Merrill!" I laugh, delighted.

She tilts her head to the side inquisitively. "What did I do?"

I realise she probably doesn't recognise the other meaning of what she said. "You just made a dirty joke!" I explain happily.

Her brows lift in surprise, then quickly contract as she attempts to puzzle it out. "Did I really? I didn't mean to, was it any good? What was it?"

"I said I'd take two kisses, one for each cheek, and you said it should be four kisses." She just waits, looking at me, waiting for me to say something more enlightening than simply repeating what she just said, as always endearingly oblivious to any sort of crude implications.

"Four kisses, you know, one for each-"

"Oh! Oh, Creators, no, I-I didn't mean that, I only meant two kisses on each cheek, on your face, not...Elgar'nan!"

I chuckle. "I know, Merrill, it's alright. That's part of making a good dirty joke. I know what you mean, but I can also hear the other meaning, which makes me laugh, see? You don't have to mean the other meaning, not really. Isabela does it all the time with you."

"Does she? When? Like what?"

"Like yesterday, when she said that you're so sweet she could eat you for dessert."

Merrill frowns in confusion, her eyes searching mine. "I don't understand. How is that dirty?"

_Maybe I'll show you sometime... Maker's breath, I can't say that. Dangerous topic, better head it off. _I tousle her hair affectionately, earning a soft, surprised giggle from her.

"Maybe I'll tell you when you're older."

She makes a little face. "Varric always says that. I'm not that much younger than you, you know!"

"I know, I know. I was just teasing you, sorry."

"It's alright, Hawke, I don't mind when you tease me," she says sweetly. "You're always so nice about it!"

"I do it with love," I say without thinking. She smiles at me, the light of the world in her eyes, and now it's my turn to blush as I cast around for something to say that will make me feel less stupid.

"How are you feeling now?" I instantly regret the question as her smile vanishes. _Good bloody job, idiot_.

She bites her lower lip, then looks away from me, into the fire. "I'm not hurting anymore, but... I still feel... unclean."

"Did they... touch you?" I ask tentatively.

She shakes her head a little. "N-no, at least, not the way you mean, you stopped them before they could- but... the two that you killed... They grabbed me, ran their hands all over me..." she trails off in a whisper, eyes downcast. I can't help myself; I reach out and stroke the hair back from her forehead, tucking it gently behind her pointed ear.

"You should bathe. It will help you feel better." There is a wooden tub sitting in a corner beneath a table; I fetch it and carry it to the centre of the room. She hasn't moved. I look around and see a towel and a washcloth on a drying hook by the fire. I set the tub down in front of the hearth and place the towel and cloth next to Merrill on the bench.

I don't want to leave her, not even just to get water from the pump outside. I conjure ice and fill the tub, then use a carefully controlled fireball to melt it. Instant hot water. Usually I would not use my magic for such trivial menial tasks, but this situation merits breaking my own rules, just this once.

"There you go," I say, standing awkwardly next to the tub. "Take your time. I'll go wait in your room and find you some more comfortable clothes. Just call me when you're done." I move to go into her bedroom to let her disrobe and bathe in peace, but her hand darts up, slender fingers encircling my wrist, holding tightly.

"No! Please don't go, Hawke, please don't leave me."

"I'm only going to be in the next room, Merrill. I figured you'd want some privacy."

She shakes her head again, harder, biting her lower lip as she looks up at me pleadingly. "I have nothing to fear from you, Hawke. And... I need to know you're here, to see you, I don't want you to go anywhere. I can't stand to be alone right now. Please, Hawke," she whispers, clutching my hand with both of hers, "please stay."

_Maker._ I place my other hand over hers reassuringly. "If that's what you want, then of course I will. I'll do whatever you need."

She smiles gratefully and stands, slipping off her still-open shirt, and I turn away, wanting to offer her that much privacy, at least. Much as I'd welcome the sight under normal circumstances, I will not take advantage of her in such a way. When I hear the small gasp as she settles into the hot water, I turn back around. She is sitting in the tub with her knees to her chest, eyes closed as she scoops up water in one cupped hand, splashing it over her skin, which now glistens in the light of the dancing flames. Maker, it's a tantalising sight. I bend and pick up the washcloth from the bench, more to distract myself than anything else as it's well within her reach, and offer it to her. "Here." She opens her eyes and takes the cloth. She wets it and rubs it over her body as I try desperately to look anywhere else, staring from the fireplace to the bookshelves against the wall, and then to the table and chairs in the corner before finally settling on craning my neck up to stare at the sky through the holes in the ceiling. Oh, yes, much better. No chance of any peripheral voyeurism occurring now.

A small splash and a quiet sob soon draw my attention, however, and I look back down at her sharply. She has let her arm fall listlessly into the water and is gazing down despondently at the cloth in her hands, head bent in quiet misery.

"What is it?" I ask quietly.

"I can still feel them on me," she says, her voice small. I feel my heart clench in my chest. She looks up at me hesitantly, her eyes big in her face, then holds the cloth out to me.

"Maybe if... Will you help me? I'd feel better if you do it. It might make my mind believe that their touch is really gone." _Whatever you need, I said._ _I did say it. Maker's breath_.

"Of course I will," I say softly, taking the wet cloth from her hands. She closes her eyes as I kneel behind her and gently wash her lithe back, her slender arms, her delicate shoulders, moving the wet rag over her skin in slow, deliberate circles. I push back my sleeves and dip my arm into the water, lightly running the cloth over her chest, and then her firm stomach. She leans back into me at this point, letting her head rest against my shoulder, trusting me completely. I (somewhat hastily) raise the washcloth to her face before I get too carried away, dabbing gently, tracing her vallaslin with a corner. She stirs, her head turning so that it is half tucked under my chin, her cheek pressing into the hollow of my throat. I halt my movements and hold completely still. Her eyes are still closed, is she asleep? I feel my pulse quicken and hope that she is; if not, there's no way she won't feel how fast my heart is beating, how rapid my breathing has become.

"How did you know?" she asks suddenly, her voice soft.

Not asleep, then. Obviously. "Know what?"

She sits up and turns to face me in the water. I keep my eyes determinedly on her face. "When I called for you... I never... I didn't really think you would come - not that I'm saying you wouldn't, I just, I never thought you'd actually hear me. But you did. You came. How...?"

I try to think back, to remember. "I was about to go to bed, and I suddenly got this horrible feeling; like something was really, really wrong. It happens sometimes, some sort of subconscious warning, I suppose, I don't really know for certain. Father thought that perhaps I had some sort of latent talent for Seeing. It used to happen a lot when I was little, usually right before a unit of Templars would come into whatever town we were living in, looking for apostates, and we'd have to run. It hasn't happened for quite some time, but then tonight, suddenly it was stronger than I've ever felt it before. I went outside to try and see what was wrong, and then I heard you, and just started running." I look down, fiddling with the washcloth in my hands, remembering the terror I felt when I heard her scream, and the killing fury that took me when I saw her on the ground with those filthy bastards around her, abusing her, hurting her... "I'm just glad I got there when I did. I wish I'd gotten there sooner." I shake my head, and feel my mouth curl wryly. "Though, I suppose if I'm wishing for things, I wish it'd had never happened to you at all."

"So do I," she says softly. Then she blinks, and her expression becomes thoughtful, dreamy. "Although, then you wouldn't have given me so many hugs. And a bath. And I did get a new shirt, well, an old shirt, but it's new for me, not to mention leggings, as well!"

"You always manage to see good in everything." I smile. "One of your many charms. Do you feel better now?"

"Much better, yes. Thank you, Hawke."

I grab the towel and hold it open for her as she rises gracefully, rivulets of water streaming down her body as she steps out of the tub. Trying to keep my eyes averted, I wrap the towel tight around her shoulders and shepherd her gently into her small bedroom. I let her pat herself dry (Praise Andraste she hasn't asked for help with that, I don't know if I could control myself!) and find a loose shirt and a pair of thin cotton trousers under the pillow on her narrow bed. I hand them to her and turn to face the wall as she dresses herself. A gleam of light catches my eye, and my gaze falls on a small bundle of cloth lying on a table near her bed. Something shiny is poking out through the folds of material, is it... a shard of broken glass? Odd, even for Merrill. Perhaps she broke something, and just hasn't gotten around to throwing it away yet.

"Hawke?"

I dismiss the shard from my mind and turn back to her.

"You should get some rest, now. Do you think you can sleep?"

She nods, though she seems a bit unsure. "I think so, if you're here. You will stay, won't you?" she asks, suddenly anxious. I fold back the covers on her bed, and encourage her gently to lie down.

"I said I would, didn't I?" I say, tucking the blanket around her, like Mother used to do for me when I was small. I wonder if the Keeper ever did so for Merrill. I could see that she cared for her wayward First when I saw them together before we left, but Marethari did not really seem the motherly type, far too stern. Such a lonely childhood Merrill must have had. So much expected of her. I look down at her, watch her blinking her eyelids drowsily, looking sleepy and adorable, and I can't resist: I lean down and place another soft kiss on her forehead. "I'll be right here when you wake up," I promise her, and she smiles at me again, lighting my world.

"I don't know what I did to deserve a friend like you, Hawke," she says as her eyes flicker closed, and I smooth my hand over her hair.

"I feel the same way about you, Merrill." _And then some._

I sit on the floor next to the bed, leaning my back against the wall, resting my arm beside her on the thin mattress. She falls asleep holding my hand.


	3. Chapter 3

xxx H xxx

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><p>Just a few hours later I start from a light doze, awakened by a strange sound. I cast my gaze about, looking for the source, until Merrill whimpers fretfully in her sleep and I understand that I must have been awakened by her cry. She is curled into a protective ball, legs drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around her shoulders. She is breathing fast, almost panting, and I realise she is trapped in a nightmare. My throat closes up and I put my hand on her arm to try and shake her awake, but she struggles without waking, crying out in wordless distress. I get up and kneel next to her on the bed, still holding her arm as she thrashes.<p>

"Merrill. Merrill! Wake up, it's just a dream. I'm here. You're safe." I pull her upright, trying to wake her. Her fist flails out and catches me across the cheek, but I ignore the sting and grasp her gently but firmly by the shoulders, shaking her. "Wake up." Her eyes snap open and she gasps, dragging in deep breaths, looking so bewildered and terrified I want to take her in my arms, hold her tight and never let go. But I don't want to scare her, she's been through so much. Her green eyes are darting wildly around the room without recognition; I can see she is not yet fully awake, still caught in a terrible fusion of dream and memory.

"Merrill, look at me. You're safe now, it's over. You're safe," I repeat, gazing intently into her eyes. She focuses on me and falls still, eyes searching my face, then she suddenly leans forward and presses herself hard against me, her arms clutching so tight around me I feel like my ribs might shatter under the pressure. She starts to sob brokenly into my chest, and my heart shatters instead. I hold her as close as I dare, rubbing her back gently with one hand and cradling the back of her head with the other. "Shh, it's alright now, I promise."

I let her cry herself out, speaking softly to her, letting her know I am here for her, just like I did back in that alley. It takes her a while, but after a time her tears slow, and then stop, and apart from the occasional shuddering intake of breath, she is still. I hold her and keep stroking her back until she relaxes her hold on me, slowly sitting up to look into my face.

"Why are you always so nice to me?" Her unexpected question catches me off-guard, and for just a moment I can't think of a single thing to say to her; it just seems so obvious to me I never thought to put it into words. I manage to find some, though, and answer her quickly.

"Because you're you, and you deserve it," I say, lightly tapping a playful fingertip on the end of her nose. She wrinkles it involuntarily, adorably, and I suddenly have to work very hard not to lean over and kiss her fiercely. She frowns suddenly, and tilts her head to the side, looking at me intently. _Oh, Andraste, did she see it in my eyes? Did I scare her?_

"What's the matter? Have I got something on my face?" I joke weakly.

"You have a bruise...on your cheek, there. That wasn't there before..." Her eyes open wide in horrified realisation. "Mythal, did I hit you? I didn't mean to, I'm so sorry Hawke!" she cries tearfully, her face crumpling.

I smile, and touch my fingertips briefly to her cheek to the bruise still visible under her delicate skin. "I know, Merrill, it's alright. Look, now we match."

She chuckles, a little wetly. "How do you do that? You say something funny or clever and suddenly everything's all right again."

I give a little shrug. "It's a gift."

She stares at me for a moment, something unreadable in her wide green eyes, then she leans forward and hugs me again.

"You are a gift. You came. I called for you and you came. Ma serannas, ma vh...lethallan."

I wonder what she had been going to call me.

"It's hours til sunrise yet, you should try and rest." I try to pull away, to let her lie back down, but she just holds tighter, so I prop up the pillow against the wall and lie back into a half-sitting position, pulling her with me. She lays her head down, cheek pillowed on my breast and closes her eyes. I guess she feels safer this way. I pull the blanket over her and tuck it in around her, but when I try to tuck it in between us she takes the edge of the blanket out of my hands and throws it over me, covering us both.

"It's much colder now, you should have some blanket too," she says matter-of-factly.

"Fair enough. Thank you." She shifts beneath the blanket, snuggling her little body against mine, blissfully unaware of the sensations and emotions she is stirring within me. _Oh, Maker, give me strength. Bloody Void._

"You're welcome, Hawke." Her breathing slows and deepens, and she slips into a dreamless slumber as I weave a wordless spell about her, veiling her awareness of the Fade and its inhabitants completely. No nightmare will touch her, now, not tonight; a small trick I taught myself while caring for a younger brother and sister, so long ago. I gaze down at her sleeping face, so innocent, so breathtakingly beautiful. There'll be no rest for me tonight, that's for damn sure.

As I watch her sleep, my mind takes me back to the alley where I found her surrounded by that pack of vile beasts; watching, waiting, laughing. I remember my heart leaping into my throat as I saw her hurt and helpless on the ground, remember the burning rage that filled me as I snarled my fury at her remaining assailants, my blade dripping with the blood of their felled companions: _"Go ahead. Try me. I _want_ to kill you. Your heartbeats are numbered. Consider yourselves the walking dead."_

It was no idle threat.

I capture the image in my mind and hold it still. I see their faces, studying them one by one, and I memorise them. I can't let this happen again; to Merrill, or to anyone else. I doubt this was the first time they did such a thing; being thwarted this time won't prevent scum like that from doing it again. I know Aveline would probably say that it doesn't justify murder, but I don't care. I just don't. Merrill will never have to see their faces again; I'll make sure of that.

_Next moonrise_, I think coldly, tightening my hold on the precious elven girl sleeping peacefully in my arms, laying my cheek tenderly against the top of her head:

_I am going to go hunting. _


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you to everyone for reading my story, especially those who made it a favourite! And a special thank you to those who reviewed, I wasn't expecting such nice comments! I hug you all in spirit, unless you're not comfortable with that, in which case I offer you an appreciative handshake. In spirit. I hope you enjoy the next instalment! It's also a bit dramatic, but if you've read up to here, then you know what you're in for. Enjoy!_

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><p>xxx M xxx<p>

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><p>The sun always seems to shine more brightly in Hightown, somehow, but I don't know why, exactly. Perhaps it just seems that way because of all the shiny jewellery the nobles wear. They all look so pretty, in their fine silks and satins, like a swarm of colourful butterflies; I just can't help but watch them as they glide gracefully around the square in front of the Viscount's Keep. I see some of them are staring back at me, now. Oh, dear, they look a bit cross. Why do they make themselves look so nice if they don't want to be looked at? I must be missing something again. Isabela is looking at them too, though she does it out of the corner of her eye while pretending to look at something else and they don't seem to notice. Maybe I should try that?<p>

"Don't even think about it, Isabela," Aveline warns suddenly, and I jump. Oh, so that's what she was doing.

Isabela scoffs, and flaps a hand at her dismissively. "Pfft, relax, big girl. I promise not to steal anything in your almighty law-abiding presence. Besides, it'd be far too easy. No fun at all. I'm admiring a different kind of booty, if you must know." Isabela's head turns as a woman in a tight silk dress sweeps regally past, her amber eyes following her progress down the street.

"All these fine nobles strutting about, swaying their fine noble arses-"

"That will do, thank you," Aveline cuts her off abruptly, her level voice tinged with exasperation, as it usually gets when she talks to Isabela. She is trying to hide a smile, though, shaking her head slightly. "In either case, see that you keep your hands to yourself."

"What if I just can't help myself? Will you arrest me, Guardswoman? Or perhaps you could arrange for one of your burly fellows to cuff me and manhandle me into a cell...mmm." Isabela trails off dreamily, and Hawke laughs, giving her shoulder a friendly push. Aveline sighs wearily.

We keep walking across the square, crossing into the Chantry Courtyard, following Hawke's lead, as usual. Isabela is walking next to her, with that - that sort of swaggering thing she does when she walks. I tried to do it once or twice, but I can't manage it; I just look a bit silly and then fall over. Perhaps I should ask her how to do it properly. Hawke's walk is a bit more purposeful, but also flowing and graceful, giving her hips a slight sway as she moves. She's wearing some very form-fitting trousers today, with knee-high boots and a short blue tunic belted tightly around her waist. She looks very nice. The sunlight is in her hair, and there are bits of gold gleaming through the black strands, like shooting stars in the night sky... I realise I'm staring at her, and feel myself getting hot in embarrassment. I shake myself out of it. _Pay attention, Merrill._

Isabela's banter with Aveline made me think of something I keep forgetting to ask her, which I almost forgot again while I was watching Hawke, just now. I turn to Aveline as we walk behind Hawke and Isabela, craning my neck to look up at her face. She's so tall, even for a human.

"Why don't you ever arrest us, Aveline?" I ask curiously.

She looks down at me sharply. "What?"

I almost lose my nerve; sometimes her expression is so stern she looks just like the Keeper, if the Keeper was really tall, and had red hair, and round ears, and no vallaslin. Her green eyes, while not quite the same shade, are just as sharp and serious though, and I start babbling nervously, as I always do.

"We break the law, I'm pretty sure. Rather a lot. And there seem to be laws for almost everything in Kirkwall. You're not a bad guard, are you? Like the ones that keep attacking us when we come here at night?"

Her eyebrows draw together, and her frown could rival the Keeper's. "No!" Oh, dear. She didn't really think I meant it, did she?

"That's good, I didn't think so. But then, why do you let us get away with so many things? Is it because you're fond of Hawke? I kind of am." _Creators, still my wagging tongue._

"How very nice for you," she replies shortly. Now I've made her cross, too. I always manage to say the wrong thing. "Keep it to yourself."

"I'd rather keep it with her," I say quietly. At least, I thought I did, but Hawke, still walking with Isabela a pace or two ahead of us, turns her head towards me and gives me a warm smile. There's a funny feeling in my stomach all of a sudden, and my face is hot. I'm blushing again, I know it. Wonderful.

Aveline stops us near the Chanter's board, her gaze on falling a kind looking, dark-haired guard as he walks past the steps to the Chantry. "A moment, Hawke, I just need to speak to Donnic- uh, Guardsman Donnic - for a moment. I won't be long."

"We'll wait here. Please, take your time. I'm sure whatever dire and dramatic problem Anders has this time can wait a little longer." Hawke replies, grinning. I think Aveline looks a little embarrassed, though I can't imagine what for. She heads over to the guardsman, catching his attention and walking with him a little way. She's wearing that stern expression; is he in trouble? He seems pleased to be talking with her though, so maybe not. Isabela is gazing hungrily at the nobles again, seemingly oblivious to all else; otherwise I'm certain she would have had something to say about it. Well, as long as she's happy.

Hawke is leaning casually against the vine-covered wall next to the steps, arms crossed, watching Aveline and the guardsman. I wander over towards her and her gaze flicks over to me. She smiles, and reaches out with one arm, and I lean against the wall next to her as she throws her arm around my shoulders.

"How's my favourite Dalish elf this morning, then?" she asks, giving me a quick squeeze. I smile up at her. She's so kind.

"Very well, thank you, Hawke. It's so nice in Hightown, isn't it? How do they keep it so clean?"

Hawke gives a wry grin, glancing over to the Chantry sister standing by the notice board. "The Maker, in His infinite wisdom, doth send His rain to fall upon fair Hightown; for to washeth all the dirt and filth and garbage into Lowtown, where it doth belong, by His decree. Thus let the poor, downtrodden, and huddled masses rejoice, for they have been blessed with the leavings of their betters. So let it be."

"Is that one of the verses from the Chant of Light? It's not quite as pretty as some of the others, is it?"

Hawke laughs. "It was a joke, Merrill." _Oh. Well, of course it was, Merrill._

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's alright. It wasn't a very good one, anyway." Her face grows serious as she looks down at me.

"Did you sleep alright last night? I know you said you'd be fine, but I really would have stayed another night if you needed me to."

I have no words for how wonderful it felt, yesterday; waking up next to Hawke with her arms around me, sheltering me, knowing she stayed the whole night with me in my rat-infested hovel just to make me feel safe. I would have felt terribly if I'd made her do it again, though. "I know you would have, but I didn't want to be a burden. I slept fine, Hawke. Thank you for asking."

She squeezes my shoulders again, shaking her head a little. "You're anything but a burden, Merrill."

"You're too kind, Hawke. I'm alright, really. Thanks to you. I did sleep well. No more dreams." Well, that was almost true. I had no more bad dreams, but I did dream of her. _Not now, Merrill. Focus_. I frown, suddenly, and study her face. There are shadows under her eyes. "You look a bit tired, actually. Did you sleep badly?"

A startled look flashes across Hawke's face, but she quickly replaces it with a wry half-smile. "Guess I was just worried about you. Or maybe I just can't sleep well without you next to me."

I know she must only be teasing, but I get that funny feeling in my stomach again. I hear myself giggle nervously, and cringe inside my head. "I am fine, Hawke, really. You don't have to worry about me."

Hawke opens her mouth to say something, looking unconvinced, but before she can a voice from behind her interrupts.

"You, there! Fereldan. I wish to speak with you." A fancy looking man is standing in front of the stairs to Darktown, beckoning to Hawke imperiously. Hawke glances over her shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow, then lifts her arm from my shoulders and pushes off the wall, sauntering over to him with a nonchalant air. I follow along behind her uncertainly, and Isabela joins us. I suppose she thinks that this might be a bit more interesting than ogling the nobles.

"I've heard you have dealings with certain...elements...in the city. You've certainly made quite a name for yourself amongst the members of the Red Iron mercenary band, or so I hear. You can get things done, "on the sly" as they say?" The man says, looking down his long nose at Hawke, a slight sneer on his face. She crosses her arms and matches him stare for stare.

"That's a fancy way of putting it," she says insolently, a trace of amusement in her voice. The magistrate continues as if she hadn't spoken.

"I find I have need of someone possessing your... special talents. My name is Vanard. I am a magistrate of this city, and as such there is a small, albeit important, task that I would hire you to perform. A man I sentenced to a life in prison has escaped custody. He has been tracked to a ruin outside the city. He needs to be recaptured immediately."

"A request that should have been made of the guard," Aveline says disapprovingly as she comes back over to join us.

"What was this man's crime? Why is there such a clamour to catch him?" Hawke asks.

"He's escaped. That's reason enough to catch him," the magistrate says evasively. Hawke narrows her eyes slightly.

"This sounds too easy. We're both intelligent people. There's something in the ruins, isn't there?"

"There is something, yes," he admits. "There are...creatures...inhabiting the ruins. I don't know what kind; I've never seen them. The guards I sent are ill-equipped to deal with such beasts; they tell me that a whole company has gone in after the criminal, but none have come out."

"I have heard nothing of any guard detail being ordered to deal with this. On whose authority were they sent? Why did the request not come to the Keep?" Aveline demands, brows lowered dangerously.

The magistrate draws himself up haughtily. "On my authority as a magistrate, I requisitioned the unit personally."

"You can't just let the creatures take care of him? Seems like the simplest solution. Dangerous criminal gets eaten instead of guardsmen, the city is safe, the beasts get a free meal; everybody wins. Well, except for the criminal, of course," Hawke quips. The magistrate doesn't seem to appreciate her humour, though. Or maybe he just doesn't realise she's not being serious. I can't really blame him; after all, I don't always get it straight away when Hawke tells a joke, either. I think I'm getting better at it, though. A bit.

"I believe in justice, _Fereldan_, not unbridled slaughter. I will not let prisoners be eaten just because I don't want to get my hands dirty," the magistrate snaps.

"If this is what you consider a small task, I'd hate to see a large one," Hawke says, a little sarcastically. "Why don't you just send more guards? Surely a bigger company would do just fine."

The magistrate shakes his head. "No. The more guards who know, the easier it is for this to get out. Those people gossip like old fishwives." Aveline glowers at him, and I wonder that he doesn't burst into flames on the spot.

Hawke is looking at him with a doubtful expression. "Seems like it would be more important to apprehend him than worry about a little public embarrassment over his escape. If he's dangerous enough to earn a life sentence."

"The more time you spend plaguing me with foolish questions, the more time he has to make good his escape," he replies shortly. "Three sovereigns if you bring the fugitive in, but only if he's alive. Dead, you get nothing. Do you want the job, or not?"

Hawke rubs the back of her neck uncomfortably, probably weighing up the need for coin for her expedition against the risk of such a dubious task. She sighs eventually, and nods once.

"Alright, I'll do it."

"Good. Bring the fugitive in, quickly and quietly. Not only will you be well-paid, you'll have the gratitude of a city magistrate. Useful, for a refugee, don't you think?"

Hawke gives the man a suspicious glance over her shoulder as we walk away. "There's something...off... about this."

"I agree. I've heard nothing about it. Why keep it so quiet? I understand not wanting to cause a panic, but why did he not involve the whole guard through the proper channels?" Aveline wonders.

"It is a lot of coin, though," I pipe up, trying to see the positives. "Three whole sovereigns for putting a dangerous criminal back in prison, and we don't even have to kill anyone! People, I mean; I know we'll probably have to kill some of these creature things, whatever they are. I wonder why no one told the magistrate what they look like."

"Dead men tell no tales, kitten," Isabela says, grinning at me fondly.

"Oh. Right, of course. Well, whatever they are, I'm sure we're more than a match for them!"

Hawke laughs. "That's the spirit, Merrill. You're right. Kill a few creatures, capture a convict, and be back in time for drinks at the Hanged Man, three sovereigns richer. Nothing to it. Let's just quickly check in with Anders, and then be on our way, shall we?"

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><p>"It's all fun and games until someone raises the bloody dead!" Isabela yells, wrenching her dagger from the skull of a skeleton archer as Hawke destroys the last of them with a well placed fireball. "I thought the bloody giant spiders were bad enough. Who's pulling these bony bastards out of their graves? Do you think this murdering swine is a renegade mage, to boot?"<p>

"I don't feel any raising spells, or any other magic; at least, nothing cast with purpose. I don't think a mage is doing this," Hawke says. Her eyes are still blazing with barely contained fury, as they have been since the merchant elf, Elren, told us of the criminal's crimes at the entrance to the ancient ruins outside the city. My heart twisted at the pain in his voice as he spoke of his daughter's capture and death at the hands of the fugitive now cowering somewhere within the ruins, and I could hear the answering rage in Hawke's voice as she promised to tear his throat out herself; coin be damned.

I haven't been able to say much since we entered the ruins. What this man has been doing to elves, and children at that ...well, it would have been dreadful enough hearing about it at any time, but so soon after... after what happened the other night...

Hawke takes my hand suddenly, squeezing it briefly before she lets go. She always knows how to make everything alright.

"What do you think, Merrill? Why are the dead being so lively here?" Hawke asks me as we continue down the crumbling passageway. I think about it for a moment.

"Hmm...Well, I suppose...You know that many spirits in the Fade wish to escape it by possessing a living host and controlling them?" She nods once. "Well, this place is ancient, and full of echoes of death and pain, from throughout the Ages and... more recently. We would call it _setheneran_; a place where the Veil is thin. Just like the caves on Sundermount. It wouldn't be hard for a spirit to reach through the barrier to look for a body to control. With so many living bodies wandering about the ruins all of a sudden, it must be very tempting to those in the Beyond. But of course, as creatures from a realm so completely alien to this one, they can't distinguish between the bodies of the living and the dead."

"That makes sense," Hawke agrees. It really is nice to have another mage to talk to, who understands such things, without the need for lengthy explanations all the time.

"So, just to clarify for us non-magical people; a bunch of crazy demony spirit things from beyond the Veil are accidentally possessing dead bodies, when they're really after us?" Isabela asks, raising an eyebrow. Hawke and I nod.

"And once they're inside the dead body, they're stuck, which drives them mad," Hawke says, looking down at a skeletal corpse at her feet, "Thus the mindless, unrelenting, and somewhat unimaginative attacks."

"Right. Good to know. Let's hurry this up then, can we?"

We start down the now-deserted corridor again, moving cautiously but as quickly as we can. We've lost a lot of time already, what with being jumped by several groups of giant spiders, not to mention the undead just now, which may have given the child-killing monster enough time to escape, and start again elsewhere. I am rapidly losing sight of the positive aspects of this task.

"Hawke," Aveline says quietly as Isabela picks the ancient lock on a door standing obstinately in our way. "When we find this man, do you really intend to just kill him?" Hawke turns to face her sharply, eyes flashing.

"The man targets elven children, kidnaps them, kills them, and no one does anything about it," she replies angrily. "It's been going on for years, Elren said. How many children has he murdered in that time? Maker knows why he only got a life sentence instead of a hanging. I don't know what that magistrate was thinking. He should have had him executed. The man is a monster. He deserves to die."

Aveline looks at her, her face calm and composed. "I don't disagree. But perhaps, if he's willing to talk, you should hear him out."

Hawke lifts her eyebrows incredulously. "Hear him out? What, you think he might have a good reason for what he's done? What could he possibly say to justify such crimes against these elves?"

Strangely, Aveline's eyes flick from Hawke to me, briefly, then back again. "I'm just saying, all we have to go on so far is what we've been told; we haven't seen any evidence. Instead of killing him outright, let's hear the man out when we find him; get the story from all sides," she says, staring at Hawke with a pointed look in her eyes. "Before we go about taking the law into our own hands."

Hawke is silent for a moment, staring at Aveline, expressionless.

"Fine," she says eventually, her voice curt. I can't help but feel that I'm missing something again.

A loud click echoes around us, and Isabela lets out a satisfied laugh. "Hah! Gotcha. We're good to go, girls. And Aveline too, of course."

Aveline rolls her eyes in exasperation. "Shut up, whore."

Hawke brushes past her and heads through the door, striding quickly down the passageway and around the corner. I follow after her hastily, Isabela and Aveline on my heels. We turn the corner after Hawke and stop short. Hawke is crouched on the ground next to a dark haired elven child, who stares around at all of us with frightened eyes. Is this... could it be Elren's daughter?

"Who are you? Please, can you get me out of here?" she cries, clutching at Hawke's arm. "I just want to go home."

My heart leaps into my throat at the fear in her voice. "Everything's going to be alright, da'len," I say, stepping forward and smiling at her reassuringly. "Don't be afraid. You're safe now."

"Lia?" Hawke says, gently helping the child to her feet. "Your father said that you were dead."

"My father? Is he safe? Kelder said he'd hurt my family if I didn't come with him..." the girl said tearfully, gazing up at Hawke.

"Who is Kelder?" Hawke asks gently.

Lia looks down at her feet. "The man who took me."

"This must be the scum we're after." Isabela says grimly.

"Where is he, little one?" Aveline asks, her voice kind.

Lia turns and points behind her down the passageway. "In a room back down there."

"I'm just glad we found you alive," Hawke says, smiling in relief. "Are you hurt? I don't see any injuries. How did you escape him? Kick to the groin? Sand in the eyes? Rock to the head?"

Lia tilts her head at Hawke, a faint look of uncertainty on her face. "Kelder? No. He...he let me go." Hawke lifts her eyebrows in surprise, but doesn't interrupt as she continues. "I tried to make it to the entrance, but I hid when those... creatures showed up. I thought I heard him calling for me. I almost went back to him, I didn't want to be eaten, but Kelder, he...He hit me, told me I was nothing. I begged him to stop hurting me..." Her voice fails her as she gives a little sob, and I reach out to the child, hugging her close. She holds on tightly for a moment, then looks back to Hawke. "He stopped himself. I didn't think he would but out of nowhere he pushed me away and just started crying. Don't you see? He didn't mean to hurt me! He told me! There are demons, they make him do these horrible things!"

Hawke closes her eyes, rubbing at her forehead. "Brilliant. I'll have to remember to use that. 'A demon made me do it-'" she mutters to herself.

Lia obviously hears her, though, because she suddenly bursts out: "But it's true! How else could he do something like this? Please..."

Hawke stares at her with a stricken look on her face. "I'll...try to show him mercy, Lia. But Kelder is dangerous. If he gives me no other choice, I can't promise he won't get hurt."

"He won't fight you, I promise," Lia said earnestly, letting go of me and moving to stand before Hawke, looking up into her eyes.

"Run to the entrance," Hawke tells her. "Your father is waiting there. The way is clear now, but hurry."

Hawke turns to Aveline as Lia runs down the passageway out of sight. She doesn't say anything, just looks at her. Aveline sighs quietly.

"Alright, Hawke. But if he wants to talk, just hear him."

Hawke shakes her head and moves on. "He'd better talk fast. And it'd better be good."

* * *

><p>"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't cut you down before you draw another breath," Hawke snarls, a look of utter fury and hatred on her face as she stares down at the man sitting on the ground, leaning his back against a pillar.<p>

He looks slowly up at her, then suddenly stands, moving towards her. I take an involuntary step back, and Hawke shifts slightly to stand in front of me, although I don't think she quite realises she did so.

"Do it. Kill me. Slit my throat. That's the only way the whispers will stop," he says rapidly, staring wildly at Hawke. "I was hoping the beasts down here would kill me, but they haven't found me yet. I asked my father to do it, but he wouldn't." Hawke stares at him in mute surprise.

Kelder notices her look. "He didn't tell you, did he? The magistrate is my father. He's tried so hard to keep me - and what I've done - hidden away," he says, looking down at his hands.

"I'm disgusted by the both of them." The repulsion in Aveline's voice mirrors the expression on Isabela's face. There's an audible growl in Hawke's voice as she glares fiercely at Kelder.

"He's ignoring his duties. The magistrate is supposed to protect the people of the city. And that includes the elves."

Kelder glances at her, then away. "Father is a good man. He tried to help, to stop me, but he couldn't. No one can. That elven girl; she had no right to be so beautiful. So perfect. The demon said she had to be taught a lesson, like all the others." Hawke stiffens visibly, her hands balling in horror and rage. I feel an icy fist clench in the pit of my stomach. _Oh, may the Dread Wolf take you, you unimaginable monster_. The man stares at Hawke, the whites of his eyes shining in the gloom. "The circle was supposed to help me, but they lied! They said there were no demons, that I was mad. This isn't my fault." I thought Hawke looked furious before, but it was nothing compared to the expression that twists her features at Kelder's horrific words.

"Let me get this straight. You torture, rape and murder elven children for being - too beautiful?" Her voice is low but fierce, echoing through the chamber in its furious intensity.

Kelder swallows, and falters under her livid gaze. "I...I didn't want to hurt them. They force me! The demons don't like it when they cry."

Hawke growls deep in her throat. It is a terrible, gutteral sound, and I pull my gaze away from Kelder's face to look at her in concern. I understand how she is feeling - I feel it too - but however hateful the actions of this man, Hawke would despise herself if she reacted now out of blind, uncontrolled rage. She's not like that. Not that I believe he doesn't deserve to die, quite the opposite, in fact. But if she does kill him, she should be in control, and absolutely certain of her reasons for doing so. He is not worth a crisis of conscience. I take a half step forward and reach out to her, laying my hand gently on her arm. She starts and turns her head to look at me. Her eyes soften, and she takes a deep breath, then gives me a small, grateful smile, before turning her head back towards Kelder, wiping her face clear of all expression.

"Lia said you told her to run. Why did you let her go?"

He starts wringing his hands. "I was ...crying, and she asked if I was alright. After everything I...the demons made me do to her, she was concerned about me. How could I let the demons destroy something so good? So pure?"

Hawke narrows her eyes at him, shaking her head disgustedly.

"And we're back to the 'demons', again. I doubt the circle lied. They wouldn't risk letting you loose in the city if they suspected a demon at work."

"No! I'm not mad! They lied!" Kelder cries, waving his arms in denial.

"Coward. Doesn't even have the balls to own up to his own depravity," Isabela says, a revolted sneer twisting her full lips.

Kelder's eyes dart wildly about the room, before coming to rest on Hawke. "I can't stop! I've tried, so many times. You have to kill me. It's the only way to stop me!"

"First smart thing he's said," says Isabela, her eyes unforgiving as she stares coldly at the murderer. "Give him what he wants."

"If killing you is the only way to stop you, then so be it. The elves deserve justice." Hawke unsheathes her dagger, and steps forward. Kelder hangs his head, arms at his sides.

"Just tell my father I'm sorry...for everything."

Hawke's temper finally snaps.

"Must you be so dramatic?"

She slashes his throat and looks down at him expressionlessly as he chokes out his last breath on the cold stone floor of the ruin.

Aveline's eyes are on Hawke's blade, and she has a frown on her face, looking between Hawke and the gaping wound in Kelder's throat. She isn't mad at Hawke, is she? She can't think Hawke was wrong to kill him, not after everything we've seen and heard. "Some people are simply broken," Aveline comments eventually.

Hawke nods slowly before she wrenches her gaze from Kelder's body and turns her back on him, motioning for us to leave. We turn to follow her without a word, and walk silently back through the ruins.

* * *

><p>A heart-warming sight is waiting to greet us as we finally step back out into the sunlight. Little Lia is clutched tight in her father's embrace, her head resting on his shoulder as he holds her to him joyfully. Elren raises his head and opens his eyes slowly, gazing at us in wonder.<p>

"You... you saved her! My little girl... I didn't dare hope!" He looks at Hawke, and his voice intensifies. "Did you find that monster? Is he dead?" Lia turns in his arms, twisting her head to look at Hawke worriedly. Hawke glances at her, something almost like apology in her eyes, then nods to Elren.

"You don't need to worry. He won't harm Lia, or anyone else. Ever again." Lia blinks once, her lip quivering, then she drops her gaze, staring down at her feet. _Oh, da'len, you don't understand_. Elren gently lets go of his daughter so that he can move forward to look Hawke in the eyes.

"I didn't think an elf could ever get justice in Kirkwall. I speak for all of us when I say that we are in your debt, serah." He offers a gold sovereign to Hawke, pressing it into her hand when she tries to refuse it. "Please, it is the least I can offer you. For my daughter's life, I thank you." He bows his head, and turns to leave, beckoning to his daughter. Lia lifts her head and stares at Hawke for a few moments, then quietly turns away and follows her father out of the clearing. Hawke gazes after her sadly.

One of the guards who have spent the whole time loitering uselessly outside the ruins steps towards her, shaking his head.

"Ignoring the magistrate's orders is madness, stranger. I feel just as bad for these knife-ears as the next man, but-" Hawke whirls suddenly and grabs him by the collar, slamming his back into a nearby boulder.

"For future reference, following up declarations of sympathy with a racial slur isn't particularly convincing, _guardsman_," she growls into his face.

Aveline pulls her away, a startled look replacing her usual calm demeanour. "Hawke! Enough. Carry on, guardsman." The man stumbles away, a cowed expression on his face . Hawke sighs and rubs a hand across her forehead, looking a little ashamed.

"I'm sorry. I'm just... angry."

"I understand." Aveline says quietly, but there is still concern in her eyes.

I gaze after the guardsman as he disappears around a bend in the road. "Do you think he'll give us trouble? With the magistrate, I mean? Kelder was his son, after all."

"I'll speak with the guard back at the barracks, but I don't think he'll say anything now," Aveline says, glancing briefly at Hawke, who looks away. "Besides, the magistrate has been abusing his position. He can't cause trouble for us without revealing his secret."

"Well, I can certainly use a drink after all this excitement," Isabela says.

Hawke gives a small laugh, and flashes her a quick grin. "When can't you use a drink?"

Isabela punches her shoulder, smirking. "Come on, let's get out of here. If we hurry, we can make it to the Hanged Man before Corff runs out of the pigswill and starts serving the rat piss," she laughs as we start walking back towards the city.

I wrinkle my nose. "Ew! He wouldn't really serve that, would he? Why would anybody drink it?"

"The degenerates who frequent that dilapidated booze-hole wouldn't know the difference," Aveline says derisively.

"Hey! I live there, you know." Isabela shoots a glare at the guardswoman.

"I stand by my statement."

Isabela laughs. "Ooh, good one, big girl."

Aveline and Isabela lead the way out of the clearing, exchanging good natured insults back and forth, and Hawke drops back to walk with me, slipping her arm around my shoulders as we head back to Kirkwall.


	5. Chapter 5

xxx H xxx

* * *

><p>I tilt my head and throw back the few remaining drops in my cup before raising it, signalling to Norah for a refill. She shuffles over tiredly and carelessly pours out more ale. Some of it ends up in my cup, and I nod my thanks, laying out three bits on the table. She grabs it up and slouches back over to the bar. I lift my mug and take a large swallow.<p>

"Take it easy, Hawke," Isabela says, turning from her conversation with Fenris and quirking an eyebrow at me. "You have to walk before you can run. You're not a professional, like me."

"A professional what, exactly?" Fenris drawls dryly, and she elbows him sharply, laughing, turning her attention back to the broody elf. I shake my head in amusement, but take her advice and sip more slowly. I don't usually like to rely on drink to chase my dark thoughts away; no point starting now, even if my thoughts are somewhat darker than usual. Besides, I'm tired enough as it is, since I've had very little sleep these past two nights. I'd rather Carver didn't have to carry me home in a drunken stupor; I'd never hear the end of it. From him, or from Mother.

Varric is seated at the end of our table in the corner, having coaxed all the details of our little 'adventure' from Isabela, with Bianca cradled in his arms. He is stroking his fingers thoughtfully along the stock, probably composing an epic tale in his head. Without naming names, of course; fortunately Varric has more sense than to incur a magistrate's ire, which I suppose is more than I can say for myself. I'm not sure that I want this particular tale making the rounds in any form; it's not something I would relish a constant reminder of. But I doubt there's anything I can do to stop Varric now.

"So, Merrill. You had a rough day, I hear." Carver's throaty voice floats up from a few seats down the table, catching my attention, and stirring a slight twinge of jealousy within me at his husky tone. I keep my eyes on the mug in my hands, while focusing my attention on their conversation.

"Well, it certainly wasn't terribly pleasant, that's for sure. But don't worry, your sister made me feel a lot better on the way back to the city." Merrill says cheerily. I smile into my cup.

"Ah. Good. She's pretty good at that, I guess. Well... can I buy you a drink?"

"But I already have a drink. Hawke bought us all a round, remember?"

"Right, of course. Well, perhaps when you've finished with that, I'll get you another."

"Oh, thank you, Carver, but I think I'll be fine. I don't drink very much. Perhaps you could buy your sister a drink, though. Or maybe Isabela? She drinks a lot, I bet she'd like another one," Merrill says helpfully.

"Er, right. Of course."

_Better luck next time, brother. _

_Actually, no, I take that back._

"You can shout me a mug, if you like," Anders offers, an amused smirk in his voice, and Carver growls.

"Shut it, magey!"

I glance down the table to steal a glimpse of Merrill, just to see if she's really alright, of course, and find a pair of wide green eyes staring back at me. They blink once in surprise before she looks away quickly, a faint blush suffusing her cheeks as she turns to ask Anders a stuttering question about creation magic, which he grudgingly answers. I smile again and lean forward to try and join their conversation, when I glimpse red hair and plate armour out of the corner of my eye, and turn to see Aveline come through the door and walk over to lean against the bar. She notices my regard and beckons me over with a motion of her head. I sigh inwardly and rise, weaving through the other patrons and making my way over to her. I have a feeling I know what she wants to talk about.

"Hawke," she begins sternly.

I wait, meeting her gaze. When she remains silent, I raise an eyebrow at her. "Something you need, Aveline? Or can I let my attention stray?"

"Your behaviour back in the ruins was... unusual," she says at last.

"It was hardly a normal situation," I reply guardedly.

She inclines her head, conceding the point. "True, but you seemed much more on edge, and much more inclined to violence than you generally tend to be."

I sigh wearily. "I don't know, Aveline... everything about that whole situation just made me furious."

"Touched a nerve, you mean?"

It had at that, more than she could ever know. But I don't reply, I give her nothing. If she's going to accuse me of something, I want her to come out and say it. I dislike all this dancing around.

"You know, some bodies were recovered in Lowtown this morning, not too far from here. Half a dozen men. Fresh kills, must have been done last night." She pauses, looking at me pointedly. "Their throats were cut."

"Really. Maybe they were jumped by the Sharps."

"They weren't robbed. All their coin and effects were still on the bodies. This looked more like... an execution."

"Perhaps they deserved it," I say incautiously, losing my patience.

"Two more bodies were found early yesterday morning, as well. In an alley between your uncle's house and the alienage. I don't suppose there's anything you could tell me about that?" I manage to stay silent this time, watching her face. She looks me in the eye.

"One of them had his trousers halfway down to his ankles."

I clench my jaw involuntarily, a muscle leaping in my throat, and Aveline has her answer.

"I'm not going to pry into your business. Or Merrill's. I am concerned for her welfare as well-"

"Then drop it."

Aveline gives a quiet sigh of frustration at my stonewalling. "Damn it, Hawke! I can be understanding this time, and I'll let it go. But don't make this a habit, please."

"I don't intend to. If I don't have to." She nods, accepting my words without further comment. I rub the back of my neck. "Thank you, Aveline."

She glances behind me, and I follow her gaze. Isabela has abandoned her conversation with Fenris, and is now getting very friendly with a muscle-bound sailor in a corner. Aveline sniffs disapprovingly, shaking her head.

"I'm on duty early tomorrow, I'd best be getting back to the Keep. Much as I wish I could be here for the birth," she says loudly in Isabela's direction as the pirate runs her hand over the burly sailor's chest.

Isabela simply smirks over her shoulder without stopping what she's doing. "Well, big girl, perhaps we should come with you and give you a show. You could learn a thing or two." Aveline merely scoffs under her breath and strides out, trying to restrain a smile.

"Birth? Is someone having a baby? Oh, how sweet!" Merrill chirps, endearingly missing the joke as usual. Isabela laughs and turns away from the disappointed sailor without a backward glance, darting gracefully back to our table to hug Merrill from behind, ruffling her short hair in obvious affection.

"Oh, kitten, I could just lap you up." Merrill looks up at me questioningly, evidently remembering what I told her about Isabela's double meanings. I tip her a nod and a wink, and she blushes fiercely. Isabela suddenly produces a deck of cards, though I can't imagine where she was keeping them.

"Anyone for a game of Wicked Grace?" she asks, looking round the table as everyone conspicuously tries to avoid her gaze, before her eyes fall on me. "How about it, Hawke?"

I grin, and shake my head vehemently, moving over to sit next to Merrill, who beams up at me sweetly. "Huh-uh. I've almost got enough coin together for the Deep Roads now, but I won't have it for long if I let you cheat me out of it." Isabela sighs in mock disappointment, seating herself opposite us.

"Spoilsport. Alright, then, how about if we take coin out of the equation? We could all head up to my rooms and play for pieces of clothing, instead." Anders, Carver and Varric all burst out laughing; even Fenris gives a low chuckle. Merrill frowns, looking worriedly between me and Isabela.

"Oh, but I didn't bring any extra clothes. Should I go to my house and get some? I'm afraid I don't have much. And I don't really think my clothes would be much good to anyone else, I mean, who could fit into them? N-not that I'm saying anyone is too, um, big for them, of course not, but I am a lot shorter than everyone, except for Varric, anyway - oh, sorry, Varric, I didn't mean-"

"Don't worry about it, Daisy," Varric chuckles fondly. I smile and give her a one-armed hug, glad for any excuse to hold her, as Isabela laughs delightedly at her ingenuous misunderstanding and lovable rambling.

"Oh, kitten."


	6. Chapter 6

_To the Deep Roads! Note: The perspective switches mid-chapter for the first time here. Again, 'xxx M xxx', for Merrill's POV, obviously, And 'xxx H xxx' for Hawke. Just trying to make it easier to follow. Nothing too dramatic here, I don't think. Well, maybe a little. Not as much as later on, though. But mostly just a little more fluff for now. Thanks for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it!_

* * *

><p>xxx H xxx<p>

* * *

><p>"So this expedition thing works out and you'll have enough money to find your own place, at last?"<p>

I abandon the search for a sturdier pair of boots in my storage chest and look over my shoulder at Gamlen's gruff question.

"That's the plan, Uncle."

He crosses his arms, shuffling his feet a little. "Good. Then you and your brother will finally get out of my hair, and take your noisy dog-breath mongrel with you," he says, glaring daggers at my poor dog, who growls in answer, hackles lifting. I give a low whistle and he subsides, but his eyes remain fixed steadily on Gamlen, who coughs nervously. Unfortunately, Uncle has never quite managed to grasp just how intelligent a mabari is, leading to rather a lot of unpleasant conflicts between them. Well, unpleasant for Gamlen, but hilarious for anyone watching.

I raise an eyebrow at my irritable uncle, holding back a grin. "Oh, Uncle Gamlen, you can't fool me. I know your cantankerous veneer of irritation and indifference is nothing more than a mask to hide your true feelings. Don't worry; no matter where I go, you'll always be my favourite uncle." It's true enough, considering he's the only one I've got. Well, as far as I'm aware, at least; the Maker alone knows if Father had any family. He never saw fit to tell us if he did; or anything about his past, really. "Besides, once I'm gone, then who will charm the debt collectors and thumb-breakers for you? You'll be wanting me back in your hair inside of a month," I tell him, giving him a small wry smile to take the sting out of my words. "Probably badly enough to consider washing it for a change."

"And here I thought your father was an apostate, not a court jester," Gamlen says, though I think the corners of his mouth twitch upwards, just a little. "Just... just hurry up and get going, girl. The sooner you're out of my business, the better." He scratches at his stubble, then moves towards the door, skirting gingerly around the wary mabari sprawled across the floor.

"I'll say goodbye and good luck and all that now, then. I'm going out, to, ah, a friend's place for a while."

Carver, standing in front of Gamlen's writing desk, glances briefly up from the letter in his hand and snorts in disbelieving scorn at Uncle's words.

"To the Blooming Rose, you mean. Why not just come out and say it?"

"I-I only go there for the... the medicinal benefits, that's all!"

"Oh, Gamlen!" Mother sighs reproachfully, not looking up from the note she is penning by the fireplace.

Gamlen glares around belligerently at all of us before stalking out the door, letting it slam shut behind him. I smile to myself in quiet amusement and resume my search for the elusive boots. Honestly, how did I fit so many random things into this chest? I make a mental note to thoroughly clean it out once we return. _Aha!_ I pull the boots out in triumph and pull them on. These should stand up to whatever the Deep Roads have to throw at us. I move to stand up and then hesitate for a moment, thinking, before bending back to the chest and rummaging until I find what I'm looking for. I open a side pocket of my already bulging pack and cram the small pair of sandals safely inside, thankful now that I didn't just sell them when I found them. I doubt if Merrill even owns a pair of shoes, much less that she would think to bring any to the Deep Roads, but what with all the rubble and stone and rivers of lava Varric keeps telling me about, I'd feel more comfortable knowing she at least has the option of a little foot protection. Just in case. I'm not entirely comfortable with bringing her along on such a risky expedition, but the Templars have been sniffing about in Lowtown more persistently than usual, particularly in the vicinity of the alienage. I don't want to come back and find she's been locked up in the Gallows while I was gone. Or worse. It's not a perfect solution, but maybe getting us both out of Kirkwall and away from the notice of the mage hunters for a while wouldn't hurt.

I make a quick run through of my mental checklist; I want to be absolutely sure we're ready for this. Ready as one can be to go crawling about in Darkspawn infested holes, anyway. I can't think of anything we've overlooked, and Carver finished packing long before I did, which I doubt he'll let me forget. Time to be off, then.

Carver is completely absorbed in his letter; so much so that he doesn't hear me coming up behind him. It must really be quite a letter; to make Carver read. I frown to myself, deliberating; what if he's gotten himself into some sort of trouble? Surely that would make it my family duty to violate his privacy. And after all, what kind of big sister would I be if I didn't pry into his personal affairs? I raise myself up on my toes and stretch my neck to look over his shoulder at the letter in his hand. His fingers cover most of it, but I can just make out the last paragraph:

_...Why haven't you been writing, Carver? Did you find another girl in the Free Marches? _

_Remember: no girl will ever do what I did for you behind Barlin's shed that time. You just think about that!_

_Write me soon! I love you!  
>Peaches<em>

My eyebrows hit the ceiling and I giggle involuntarily. Carver whirls to face me, crumpling the letter behind his back. Too late.

"Who is 'Peaches'? Been holding out on me, Carver?"

He bristles, glaring. "A girl who lived in Lothering. Nobody you know, alright? Shut it!"

I raise an eyebrow. "And what exactly did she do for you behind Barlin's shed? Or do I really, really not want to know?"

"None of your bloody business!"

"Alright, brother, I'm sorry," I say, raising my hands to placate him. "You know I'm just teasing you. Ready to go, then?"

"I've been ready for bloody ages, waiting for you." He's still upset with me. But then, what else is new? Caver never could take a joke, certainly not one at his expense. Unfortunately for him, little brother baiting is another of my family duties. And after all, I didn't make the laws; I just follow them. Sometimes, anyway.

"I'm so sorry for wasting your valuable time, dear brother. At least it gave you a chance to catch up on your correspondence," I say, stifling a laugh, then quickly continue before he can explode at me again. "We'll go and fetch Merrill from the alienage, and then meet Varric in the Hanged Man before we head to Hightown."

"I'm with you, sister. For now," he says, resentful as always.

Mother, apparently having missed the bulk of our conversation, suddenly looks up from her writing and stares at me, a frown on her face.

"You're... you're not really still planning on taking Carver with you, are you?" she asks worriedly.

Carver turns toward her, wearing a look of exasperation. "Mother, don't start. We talked about how important this is."

I knew that Mother was unhappy about the expedition from the start, and she'd spoken out repeatedly against the idea, especially whenever Carver expressed his intention to be a part of the venture. She'd understandably become much more protective of Carver since Bethany's death, always wanting to know where he was going, what he was doing, who he was with. She wanted to keep him close. Unfortunately, her behaviour had only made Carver indignant, resentful, and more determined than ever to go into the Deep Roads with me, if only to escape her constant mothering. I understood where they were both coming from, but Carver was nineteen years of age now. He'd fought in a war, and against the blight. And thanks to Isabela, who during one of her frequent tipsy bouts of 'friendly concern' decided to inform me, in as much descriptive detail as she could, of all my little brother's recent visits to the Rose, I was well aware that he was no longer, shall we say, 'innocent'. Not to mention this new testimony from the mysterious 'Peaches'. When it came down to it, Carver was a man grown, as much as Mother might still see him as her little boy.

"This is Carver's expedition as much as it is mine. This is for all of us," I say, meeting her eyes steadily. "Carver is of age. He has a right to come if he wants to."

"I'm going," Carver stated resolutely. "It'll be fine."

Mother drops her quill, splattering ink across the page, and rises, her pleading eyes darting back and forth between us. "It's not fine. You can't both go. What if something happened to you?" Her gaze rests on me, beseeching. "You I understand wanting to do this. But leave your brother here, I beg you!"

"I said I'm going. It's my decision, not hers. Besides, if we're so bloody afraid of Templars, I should go and she should hide!" He jerks a thumb at me, and I suppress a flinch at the barely contained, yet ever present resentful scorn in his voice. I know he's had to spend his whole life on the run because of Bethany and me, but it always hurts to hear his bitter contempt. I can't help what I am.

"Carver, I beg you. Don't go! Don't do this!" Mother cries, running over and clutching at his tunic. I feel a sudden sense of remorse at causing her such distress, and beneath it, suddenly, a deeper, ominous feeling of foreboding. It's faint, though, and I dismiss it as a symptom of my guilty conscience at upsetting Mother so. But this venture is for her benefit, to get her out of this hole. We have to go. Carver's eyes soften, and he wraps his arms around Mother, giving her a rare hug, before stepping back and placing his hands on her shoulders in as reassuring a manner as he can manage.

"Don't worry about me so. I can handle the Deep Roads; I fought at Ostagar, remember? I can take care of myself, you'll see. Goodbye, Mother." He hefts his pack on his shoulders and gives her a gentle kiss on the cheek before heading out the door. "Let's go, sister."

Mother covers her face with her hands, clearly suppressing tears, then looks up and gives me an accusing, hurt look before striding into the back room and slamming the door.

"Goodbye, Mother," I say softly to the closed door, and then lift my own pack and follow after Carver.

* * *

><p>xxx M xxx<p>

* * *

><p>"Enchantment!"<p>

The joyful cry of the strange young dwarf Hawke rescued echoes through the camp, reverberating out into the darkness beyond the shielding glow cast by the light of our campfires, and from all of Hawke's protective spells as well, of course. He claps his hands and laughs loudly as Hawke traces a glowing line on the ground with her staff, casting another glyph of paralysis on the outskirts of our encampment.

"Son of a nug! Do you want to bring the Darkspawn down on us, boy? Bodahn, shut him up, will you?" Varric's grumpy brother yells angrily as Varric tries to calm him. It seems a bit silly to me, really; yelling at the top of your lungs at someone else for being loud, especially if the reason you're yelling so loudly is because you're worried that loud noise might attract Darkspawn. Hmm. I wonder if I should point this out to him? But then, considering the thunderous look on Bartrand's face, maybe I better just let Varric talk to his brother, I'm sure he'll do a much better job than I could, after all. He'd probably just start yelling at me if I tried, anyway, he doesn't seem to like me very much. Or anyone, really, now that I think about it.

"Come along, my boy. Let's sit over here, and you can finish adding your runes to Miss Merrill's staff. Would you like that?" Bodahn says in his kind manner, leading his son over to sit with me at our campfire, as they have done at every rest stop since we found Sandal wandering on his own, lost in the abandoned passageway we were exploring. I haven't met that many dwarves, but he does seem a little odd to me, poor fellow. Not in a bad way, though, I don't think.

Sandal claps his hands again in delight, beaming widely at me. "Pretty elf!" Oh! Well, he's certainly a nice young fellow, even if he is a bit odd. I smile back bashfully, and hand my staff over to him. He takes it gently in his hands, diving immediately into his work with a blissful expression.

"Enchantment! I like enchantments."

I reach for the ladle in the cook pot over the fire, spooning some stew into two bowls for them both. Bodahn accepts them with a friendly smile and a nod, placing one next to Sandal, who ignores it, completely absorbed in the rune he is carefully applying to my staff. Bodahn shrugs at me apologetically.

"Don't mind my boy, Miss Merrill. He'll dig right in as soon as he's done. Takes great pride in his work, he does!"

I pass a skin of water to the good-natured dwarf, smiling. "It's all right, Bodahn, I know. I'm very grateful for Sandal's help. And thank you for fixing those loose links in my chainmail earlier."

"Well, it's the least we can do after you and Serah Hawke brought Sandal back safe and sound. Oh, and young Master Tethras and Master Carver, of course," he says gratefully, and takes a bite of my stew. "Oh, this is very good indeed, Miss Merrill! Sandal, my boy, try Miss Merrill's stew before it gets cold. You'll need your strength to keep making your enchantments, you know!"

Sandal looks at Bodahn for a moment, considering, then nods decisively and grabs his bowl. He gulps the stew down, apparently not wanting to waste any time with the spoon. Once he finishes he lifts his head to look at me, smacking his lips in evident appreciation.

"Mmm. Enchantment."

"Thank you, Sandal. I'm glad you liked it."

He nods his head happily as he turns his attention back to my staff. Bodahn smiles fondly at him before collecting their empty bowls and taking them away to be washed, circling carefully around Carver, who is already stretched out in his bedroll, snoring lightly. I don't blame him; he's had a very hard day of swording, after all. We ran into quite a lot of Darkspawn during our journey today. Assuming it was daytime, of course. It's rather hard to tell down here, surrounded by rock on all sides. And it's so dark! I used to think the human way of life was strange, all of them living crammed together within a stone city, but at least they have the wind, and the sky. To live completely underground, no grass, no trees, no natural light. Except for the light from the lava flows, of course, though I'm not sure if that's really an improvement, considering the source. And to live down here by choice! I heard Anders say that the dwarves must be crazy to live in the Deep Roads. I think he and I may actually be in agreement on something. It's nice, when that happens; it's so unexpected! I am fond of surprises. Well, good surprises, anyway. Not a lot of those down here so far, I'm afraid. Rather a lot more of the other kind, unfortunately.

Hawke suddenly steps into the firelight and crosses over to me, winking cheerfully at Sandal as he glances up from his work briefly, beaming at his new favourite human. I watch her as she moves to sit next to me, crossing her legs and dropping lithely to the ground in one fluid motion. She's so graceful! I notice she has a bowl in her hands. Oh, well of course, she's been setting protection wards all around the camp perimeter; she must be very hungry! And here I am, sitting here staring at her like an idiot. I reach out for the stew ladle at the same time she does, bumping my fingers clumsily against hers and knocking both our hands away from the cook pot. _Creators!_ I flush and turn to her quickly, opening my mouth to apologise, but she speaks first.

"Oh, sorry, Merrill! I didn't mean to do that. I didn't hurt your hand, did I?"

I blink, momentarily thrown at hearing the words on the tip of my tongue coming from Hawke's mouth, instead. "I... no, Hawke, my hand is fine. Are you all right?"

She smiles, and reaches for the ladle again, filling her bowl. "You know, I think I've had worse." She raises her spoon to her lips and tastes my stew. "Mmm. This is very good. Surprising, considering the questionable quality of our rations. Did you make this?"

I nod hesitantly. "Yes. I, um, put some herbs in it. Dried herbs, from Sundermount. I brought them with me in case we needed to make some healing potions, but they're also quite good for cooking with, as well. As long as you use the right ones, which I'm pretty sure I did. At least, nobody's eyes have started glowing yet, so I think it's alright."

Hawke gives a soft laugh, taking another bite. "Well, I wouldn't mind if my eyes started glowing bright pink, as long as you keep making food that tastes like this," she says delicately around her mouthful.

"Well, I'd mind! I'd hate to be responsible for making your eyes turn pink, I love your eyes; they're such a beautiful blue colour," I say unthinkingly, and then duck my head in embarrassment when she glances at me in surprise.

"Thank you," she says after a moment, a small smile on her lips. "Your eyes are lovely too, you know. Green with hints of gold. They put me in mind of a forest glade in springtime."

I brush a hand through my hair, studying her face uncertainly. "You're teasing me again, aren't you?"

She blinks, and then gives a small dramatic gasp, putting a hand to her heart in mock affront. At least, I think she's not really affronted. I hope not.

"Me, tease? Never! Perish the thought." She lowers her hand and picks up her spoon again, stirring the remainder of her meal. "Really, though, Merrill, I know I can be a bit flippant, but rest assured that when I give you a compliment, I truly do mean it."

"Oh," I say, somewhat at a loss for words at her suddenly serious tone. "Then... thank you."

"You're very welcome." Hawke finishes the rest of the stew in silence, then puts the bowl aside and gives a small, contented sigh. She stretches her arms out behind her and leans back on them, tilting her head to gaze up at the sky. Or, rather, the ceiling, I suppose. It's so dark outside the light of the campfires, it's easy to forget sometimes that we're miles underground, not out in the open. For a moment, at least. But there are too many persistent reminders to make believe for long; the unyielding rock underfoot instead of the soft touch of grass, the continuous drip of water instead of the chirping song of crickets; the dry, stale air instead of the gentle night breeze...

_Alright, that's enough of that. Calm down. There must be something to appreciate down here, surely. Think positive, Merrill. The Deep Roads have a prodigious collection of... _

_...rocks. _

Well, that didn't work at all. It's no use. As much as I'm grateful to be a part of Hawke's venture, I do miss the surface terribly. And this whole place is starting to feel very much like one giant, underground tomb. The darkness surrounding us seems very oppressive all of a sudden, and I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly to calm myself before I panic. I must have made some small sound, or perhaps Hawke hears my thoughts, because she suddenly turns her head to look at me, frowning slightly in concern.

"Are you alright, Merrill? I know it can't be very pleasant for you, being down here."

I give her a reassuring smile, or I try to, at least. "Yes, thank you, Hawke, I'll be fine. I am glad you asked me to come on your expedition with you, it's just...This place is so dismal. I don't understand the dwarves at all. How could anyone live down here, in the dark? No moon, no sun, no stars..."

She sighs in agreement, nodding a little, and her short dark hair falls across her eyes.

"I do miss the sky," she admits, gazing into the crushing darkness above us.

A quick grin flashes across my face, though she doesn't see it, and I decide to try my hand at saying something clever.

"I imagine you would, being a Hawke."

Hawke looks at me, a smile growing on her face, and she laughs again, louder, delightedly. Her voice is like silver when she laughs, joyful and bright and wonderful. I return her smile in earnest, pleased at her reaction to my comment. Her laughter dies down to a soft giggle and she sits back up, brushing that impish raven lock out of her eyes. I want to reach over and move it back.

"Oh, dear, a droll witticism!" Hawke grins at me. "I must be having a bad influence on you."

"Well, that's all right; I wouldn't mind it if I were more like you, Hawke," I tell her shyly. She shakes her head gently at me, leaning back again.

"I like you just as you are," she says, using that serious tone again, and returns her gaze to the shadows above.

I feel a blush coming on and look away quickly, trying to find something to distract myself. Hmm. The fire is beginning to burn down. Wood is scarce down here, obviously, as what little we have was carried in with us, so we have to ration it carefully, like everything else. I murmur a little spell under my breath, something the Keeper taught me, suppressing the hunger of the flames so they consume the wood more slowly. I gaze into the fire when I'm done, rubbing absently at a tender place on the sole of my foot where I trod on a particularly pointy rock earlier. Hawke looks over at me and immediately notices my discomfort.

"Sore feet?"

"Yes, a bit," I admit. "All this cold, hard stone. I'm used to walking on any surface, but it's all the same down here; there's no getting away from it, not even a patch of earth, or anything. Just rock. It's beginning to wear on me."

Hawke sits up suddenly and reaches out, pulling her pack over to her and rummaging in one of the pockets. "I knew it was a good idea to bring these," she says to herself, and draws out a pair of open leather shoes, turning to present them to me. I lift my eyebrows in surprise, and look at her questioningly.

"Are... are these for me?" I ask, a warm feeling budding in my chest at the thoughtfulness of the unexpected gesture.

She nods, and lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. "You don't have to wear them if you don't want to, of course. I just thought it might be hard on your feet down here, so I brought these sandals for you, just in case."

Sandal looks up at her words. "Enchantment?"

"Different kind of sandal, my boy." Bodahn says, chuckling as he comes back over to the fire and unpacks their bedrolls, laying them out next to Carver, still fast asleep. "Don't you worry about it, you just finish up with Miss Merrill's staff and then it's off to bed."

"Enchantment!" Sandal agrees happily, and turns back to his work. Hawke and I both smile warmly at him, before I turn to give her a grateful look.

"Thank you, Hawke. I do appreciate it. It would certainly be nice to have a bit of relief from all this stone."

She smiles, and holds out the sandals for me to inspect them. "They're open on top, so you'll still be as close to feeling barefoot as possible, but your soles will be protected." She pats the top of Bodahn's equipment chest. "Come and sit up here, and I'll try them on you."

I move at her suggestion, though I feel a little foolish, perching on top of the chest while she positions herself in front of me, kneeling in the dust at my feet. She takes my ankle gently in her fingers, lifting my foot up and slipping a sandal onto it, then resting my newly shod foot against the front of her thigh before doing the same to the other. I try and take note of what she's doing. I've worn soft leather shoes before for warmth; in winter it's simple foolishness to be barefoot outside. But those just slipped on; these look rather more complex, for all they're so small; so many little straps and buckles. It appears that shoes can be much more complicated than I thought! She works nimbly, making several little adjustments to the buckles, shortening the straps. Her fingers brush lightly against my skin, and I shiver a little at the contact. It feels nice, though...

She looks up at me when she finishes. "How does that feel?"

I look down at my feet where they still rest against her legs, and wiggle my toes experimentally. "A bit funny, but I'll adjust."

"It might feel a little strange at first, but you'll soon get used to it, and then it'll feel a lot better," she assures me. I place my feet on the ground on either side of her and flex them, liking the smooth feel of the leather against my soles.

"Oh, that does feel good."

Varric chuckles as he comes over to us, staring at Hawke still kneeling in front of me, apparently having heard our exchange.

"What exactly are you doing to my Daisy, Hawke? There's a time and a place, you know," he says, still laughing as he turns away to arrange his bedding near the fire. Hawke looks around at him and blushes, though I'm not sure exactly why. It is making her cheeks look very pretty. Even the curves of her ears are turning an intriguing shade of red, although maybe it's just the heat from the fire. Humans have such strange ears. Well, and dwarves too, I suppose, though I've never wanted to touch a dwarf's ears. Hers, on the other hand... Would it be alright? Hawke has touched my ears before, when she sometimes brushes the hair out of my face, which I think is a human way of showing affection. Isabela does it too, sometimes, or she grabs my ear gently in her thumb and forefinger, usually when she calls me 'kitten'. It must be a friendly thing humans do.

I reach out my hand and stroke her ear once, running the tip of my finger along the curve. The skin is so soft, and slightly velvety. Fascinating.

Hawke starts slightly and twists her head back to look at me, eyes wide. She looks surprised. Did I do it wrong? Uh-oh. Maybe I should say something. "Your ears are turning red, Hawke. Are you getting hot?" She turns even redder, if that's possible. "Perhaps you're too close to the fire," I continue, trying to be helpful.

She clears her throat, speaking at last. "Perhaps you're right."

She unbuckles the sandals rather more quickly than when she put them on and stands, handing them to me. "There you are. See, not too difficult." I'm not sure I agree, but I nod anyway.

"Thank you, lethallan. I'm very grateful."

"You're welcome, Merrill." We smile at each other.

Carver chooses this moment to give an exceptionally loud snore, and Hawke covers her mouth to smother a laugh, gazing at him fondly. I wonder at the bond between them, sometimes. It's obvious that Hawke loves her brother very much. His feelings are much less clear, though I do believe he loves her as well. He isn't always very nice to her, though. He seems to be so... angry and bitter about the fact that she is a mage, which makes me very uncomfortable, too. Hawke told me once that Carver does understand that magic itself isn't evil, and he doesn't hate mages, exactly. She says it wasn't easy for him; always having to move around from place to place to keep his father and sisters out of the Circle. I suppose I understand. Though protecting our mages from the Templars is one of the reasons the Dalish clans move around so often and yet no one resents us for that; everyone knows that mages aren't to blame for being born with magic. I look out for my clan just as they look out for me, because we're a family. Or were, I suppose. _Oh, stop it, Merrill, you'll only make yourself miserable if you keep thinking about it._

Sandal has finished with my staff and is already fast asleep in his bedroll, Bodahn settling himself down in his blankets close by his side. The rest of the camp appears to be bedding down too, apart from the sentries, of course.

Varric finishes arranging his blankets and lies down, resting Bianca carefully beside him. He grunts, shifting uncomfortably. "Nothing like sleeping on the cold, hard ground in a pit of Darkspawn to make you appreciate what you used to have," he grumbles. "Maker's breath, but I miss my nice soft bed in the Hanged Man. Miss the... company, too."

"But Varric, I'm here, and Hawke, and Sandal, and Bodahn, and Carver. And your brother, too, I suppose. There's plenty of company here," I remind him, a little puzzled.

"I think Varric was delicately referring to 'hired companionship', Merrill," Hawke says in that wry manner of hers, wrapping herself in her blanket and curling up before the fire.

"Were you, Varric? But there are lots of men down here with us. You and Bartrand hired them, for the expedition. Don't they count as hired companions?" I ask curiously, spreading out my bedroll between her and Varric, who glances at me, chuckling.

"They're, uh, not really the kind of companionship I'm looking for."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you when you're older, Daisy." I sigh at those familiar words. I've missed something again.

"I never thought I'd say this, but I think I'm actually starting to miss sharing bunk beds with Mother and Carver," Hawke sighs, rolling onto her back and closing her eyes.

"Bartrand thinks we should find the old ruins we're looking for soon, perhaps tomorrow, or the day after. I hope he's right; the sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave," Varric mutters drowsily. Hawke makes a noise of sleepy agreement.

I sit up a little longer, my arms around my knees, watching both of them as they drift off. My friends. We may be as deep underground as you can get, stumbling about in the darkness with shades and hurlocks and all manner of nasty creatures trying to kill and eat us, but at least we're together. It'd be nice if Isabela was here too, though I'm sure she'd be even more uncomfortable underground than I am. She'd be talking about how much she was missing the sea around the city, the salt spray, the wind, the screaming gulls, the rolling sway of the ships in the harbour, up and down, up and down... ugh, now I'm making myself feel sick, just like when we came in the ship to Kirkwall. Isabela said I wouldn't get seasick if I was up on deck instead of in the hold, and I'm sure she knows what she's talking about, being a pirate and all, but I think I can live without finding out for certain. Not unless I absolutely have to. My eyelids are starting to feel heavy, now. I suppose I'd better get some sleep; it will likely be another long, tiring, Darkspawn filled day tomorrow.

"Merrill..."

Her whisper is so quiet I almost miss it. I glance down at her, but her eyes are still closed, she's not awake. Hawke stirs in her sleep, and murmurs again, even softer. I strain my ears, trying to hear her.

"...always keep you safe... I promise," she breathes.

My eyes widen, and my heart skips a beat. I smile down at her sleeping face, so peaceful and lovely in the firelight. "I know you will," I say softly. I glance around. There doesn't seem to be anyone nearby. Nobody awake, anyway. I lean down quickly and brush my lips against her forehead, just for a moment. She sighs quietly and smiles in her sleep, and I lie down on my bedroll, pulling the rough blanket up under my chin, beaming up into the space where the sky should be before my eyes slowly flutter closed. She is dreaming of me. I don't know why I felt so surrounded by darkness, before. There's not a shadow in sight, not with her here.

"Goodnight, Hawke," I whisper.

_She dreams of me, too..._


	7. Chapter 7

_Still in the Deep Roads. More of the story this chapter, less fluff. Bit sad, though. Well, alright, pretty damn miserable, really. Be warned. Once again, thanks for reading! Sorry for the miserableness. It'll get better later on, I promise. _

* * *

><p>xxx H xxx<p>

* * *

><p>"Holy shit."<p>

Varric's low whistle echoes throughout the cavern, bouncing off the rock walls as we stare up at the crumbling stone structure swathed in massive veins of lyrium. By the Void, if we only had the equipment, we could just mine it all and make a fortune, never mind combing through rubble in search of old relics. Varric sweeps his gaze over the face of the ancient ruin, and then looks up at me, giving a little shrug.

"Well, Hawke, I guess this is it. Whatever's through this door, it seems still intact. Think we'll find anything?" His tone is somewhat indifferent now; not exactly the reaction I would have expected.

I raise an eyebrow at him curiously. "You don't seem particularly excited. Bartrand is far more enthralled with this place than you are," I observe.

He shrugs again, and answers my implied question with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Unlike him, I wasn't born in Orzammar. I wouldn't even be down here if there wasn't profit in it."

"But still, look at it!" Merrill exclaims, her eyes wide as she stares up in awe at the old abandoned thaig. "It's amazing! And it's a part of your heritage, Varric. Doesn't it make you feel anything?"

Varric gives her a little grin. "Oh, absolutely, Daisy. This entire place gives me the chills."

"There's got to be something valuable in there, surely," Carver mutters. "Don't ancient ruins generally go hand in hand with priceless treasure?"

"Usually only in my stories, Junior," Varric quips. "Let's go and have a look, then. I just hope it's all been worth it."

I give him a nudge. "Chances are we won't find anything but even more Darkspawn. And rubble. Maybe both?" I joke wryly, trying to cheer him up the only way I can think of, since we don't have any liquor.

Varric grunts in sardonic agreement. "I suppose we'll need to go inside to find out." He tries the door, and it opens surprisingly easily. Not so much as a creak as it swings heavily on its ancient hinges. Bit creepy, really. I peer inside cautiously. No Darkspawn, no golems, no more bloody dragons, not even so much as a giant spider. So far, so good. I lead the way, motioning for everyone to stick close behind me as we move warily down the well-lit stone corridor, careful to avoid the channels of lava running along either wall. Varric told me the lava flows were purposely directed through the tunnels to keep them lit and warm. Personally I consider them a safety hazard.

Carver makes a small thoughtful sound behind me, and I look back at him. He is gazing around at the walls and the ceiling high above us, a contemplative look on his face. Unusual. I quirk a brow at him. "What?"

He glances at me, his brow furrowed. "This place is so old. Cracks all over the walls, some of the stone is crumbling. I'm surprised these tunnels don't simply collapse."

Varric grunts, shooting Carver an irritated look, showing a little dwarven pride at last. "Dwarves made them," he says, eyes slightly narrowed.

"Then I'm surprised they're not smaller," Carver remarks, completely straight-faced. My shoulders shake as I suppress a laugh, giving Carver a surreptitious grin. I have to admit; that was pretty good.

Varric glares at us both, then he gives in and chuckles, slapping Carver as high on his back as he can reach. "Not bad, Junior."

We reach the door at the other end of the corridor, which opens as easily and as eerily as its twin, and step through into a small chamber filled with crumbling pillars and a set of steps leading up to a sort of dais covered in lyrium veins. I start up the steps, scanning the room. The only thing I can see apart from more rubble is a small pedestal in the centre of the stone platform. There's something shiny on it, though. Well, now, that_ is_ promising. I become aware of a strange humming the closer I get to the pedestal, not really a sound, more like a reverberation in the air, resonating within me on a deep level. A magical level.

Varric steps up beside me. "You see what I'm seeing?"

I look more closely at the odd item lying on the smooth stone surface. It's a small statue in the form of some sort of imp-like creature surrounded by twists of thorns. Not exactly pretty. It doesn't look quite like stone or metal, though. I feel a slight... pull inside me, like the little figurine is tugging gently at my store of mana. I can feel the promise of power in the thing. "Is that... lyrium?"

Varric takes a step closer, squinting. "Doesn't look like any lyrium I've ever seen."

A one-of-a-kind statue crafted from raw magical ore... strange, red magic. "I've never seen anything like it, either. I wasn't aware it could be moulded like this; I thought it was mostly done in runecrafting," I say, fascinated by the way the lyrium seems to catch the light and throw it back in scatters of ephemeral glitter.

Varric rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Dwarven crafters can safely process raw lyrium so that it can be made into more useful items, but I've never heard of making the pure material into sculptures quite like this either. Looks like some sort of religious statue, the way it's placed."

"Is that it? That's the only bloody thing here?" Carver grumbles, stepping up beside me, staring down at our find with a look of mingled frustration and disappointment. "Glad we came all the way down here, then."

I glance at him, raising an eyebrow pointedly. "If it's pure lyrium, this 'bloody thing' could be priceless."

His head snaps up, eyes darting to my face in surprise, and then he gazes back down at the relic with an awed expression. "Well. That's good, then."

"Ooh, it looks a bit spooky, doesn't it?" Merrill chimes in, popping her head in between us to peer curiously at the peculiar lyrium statue. "I wonder what that little creature thing is supposed to be. Doesn't look very happy, whatever it is." My mouth curves into a half smile at her words, and I feel a sudden rush of affection for her, watching her out of the corner of my eye as she studies the relic in pure inquisitive fascination. _Maker, she's adorable_.

Sudden footsteps echo loudly in the passage behind us and I turn to look just as Bartrand strides through the door, gazing around the chamber with a speculative eye. Varric turns as well, a cheerful grin appearing on his face as he sees his brother.

"Look at this, Bartrand. An idol made from pure lyrium, I think. Could be worth a fortune!"

Bartrand gives a low whistle, stretching his neck to catch a glimpse of the idol. "Hmm, you might be right. Excellent find."

I move closer to the pedestal. The humming intensifies as I approach, small bolts of energy crackling along the surface of the idol as I reach out my hand to take it. There's a strange whispering in my ears as my fingers close around the thing, and a faint sound, a resonating tone, almost like a note of music. I grasp it, and the noises fade. I study it for a moment before handing it to Varric, who examines it closely.

"Not bad. We'll take a look around, see if we can find anything further in." Varric tosses the idol to Bartrand, who catches it deftly and stares down at it, mesmerised by the sparks of dazzling light that seem to leap from the idol's surface. Varric jerks his head, indicating a door on the opposite side of the chamber. I nod and start toward it, the others following in my wake.

"You do that." Bartrand's voice is barely audible above the ring of his boots on the stone as he walks towards the passageway, but something in his tone makes me turn back around; just in time to see the door start to swing heavily closed behind him.

"The door!" I dash to the stairs and slide down the railing, Varric taking the steps two at a time, Merrill and Carver close behind him. I sprint to the door, and reach it seconds too late; it's closed tight. Varric yanks vainly at the handle, but the stubborn slab of rock refuses to budge, suddenly highly unco-operative.

"Bartrand! It's shut behind you!" Varric calls to his brother through the door. A low chuckle emanates from behind it, and I feel a cold knot of dread form in the pit of my stomach.

"You always did notice everything, Varric," Bartrand sniggers quietly. I turn to look at Varric as his bewildered gaze meets mine, then horrified realisation flashes across his face and he turns quickly back to the door.

"Are you joking?" Varric cries incredulously. "You'll screw over your own brother for a lousy idol?"

"It's not just the idol!" Bartrand yells through the door, sounding almost indignant that Varric would suggest he would betray his brother for so small a profit. "The location of this thaig alone is worth a fortune, and I'm not splitting it three ways!" Bartrand's voice grows fainter. "Sorry, brother!"

Varric hammers on the door, calling after his brother's fading footsteps. "Bartrand? Bartrand!" His voice turns from incredulity to fury, as he paces up and down in front of the impenetrable door. "Oh, I swear I will find that son of a bitch - sorry mother - and I will kill him!" He sighs, turning to face us. "We're trapped. Maker, I'm sorry. I never saw this coming."

"It's not your fault, dwarf," Carver says in an uncharacteristically kind tone. "None of us saw this coming. And none of us blame you for what your bloody brother's done."

Varric shakes his head a little, more in disbelief of our situation than denial of Carver's words. "Let's just hope there's a way out of here," he says, resigned. I place a hand on his shoulder in sympathy; I cannot imagine how he's feeling right now. I knew Bartrand was a shifty bastard who resented having to be partners with me, but I never would have believed him capable of stabbing his own brother in the back like this.

"Oh, Varric, I'm so sorry!" Merrill cries, flinging her arms about him. "Don't worry; we'll get out of here safely. Hawke will find a way."

Right. Well... wonderful. Much as I'm touched by her faith; that is rather a lot of pressure on my head alone, all of a sudden. Varric attempts a smile, patting her back awkwardly, and then extricates himself gently from her embrace. "Thanks, Daisy, but I'll be alright."

I grasp his shoulder again briefly, and then start back up the steps, heading for the door on the opposite wall. "This way. There's got to be another passage leading out of here somewhere. No telling what might be living down here; everyone stick close together." Merrill bounds up the steps to walk beside me, so near that her shoulder brushes mine, apparently having taken my words quite literally. Not that I mind. Carver and Varric bring up the rear, following after us as I push open the thankfully compliant door and step into the continuous stone corridor beyond. "Hopefully we won't run into anything too nasty."

Surprisingly, Varric gives a small chuckle. "You think we'll be that lucky?"

"I guess I just keep hoping that if I say it enough, one of these days I'll be right."

* * *

><p>I twist and shoot a blast of ice at the last shambling rock creature, freezing it in its tracks, and Carver swoops in, swinging his massive sword up over his head and shattering the thing with a single blow. I give him a grateful nod as he straightens, panting, before I dash quickly over to Merrill, who is slowly sitting up, one hand to her head where she caught a vicious blow from one of the creature's flailing stone arms. I place my hand gently over the bleeding gash on her temple and send a surge of creation magic through my fingertips, healing her as fast as I can. My mana is severely depleted, as is hers, and I can't spare what little I have to heal every minor wound we've each sustained during our encounters, but a head injury such as this requires immediate attention. I tear a small strip of cloth from my tunic and wet a corner with water from the skin at my belt, gently washing the blood from her face. Images flash behind my eyes as I do so; memories of a similar service I performed for her not too long ago. My mind tries to fixate on some of the more tantalising visions, but I push them firmly aside: now is really not the time. She smiles gratefully at me when I'm done.<p>

"Thank you, Hawke. But, could we perhaps do battle with a pack of pretty flowers and soft bunnies next time? I'd do much better."

"You did just fine; you just got blindsided. It could happen to anyone," I say, slipping an arm around her slender waist and helping her to her feet. "And I don't think there's much chance of finding either bunnies or flowers down here. But I'll see what I can do."

"Bloody flames! What were those things?" Varric exclaims, moving to stand over the crumbling remains of the creature at Carver's feet, examining it with a perplexed expression.

"I was sort of hoping you'd have some idea," I tell him, leaning heavily on my staff as the exhaustion of our latest battle suddenly threatens to overwhelm me.

"Nope. Well, alright, they do remind me of an old dwarven tale about creatures called rock wraiths, but it's just a story."

"Whatever they are, we can still kill them as dead as shades and hurlocks," Carver says gruffly, examining a nick in the blade of his greatsword with a frown. "Doesn't matter what they are. Let's just keep going."

We pass quickly through the high-vaulted chamber, and head down another stone passageway. I look around as we walk warily along, noting with deep unease the strange red lyrium veins criss-crossing the walls and twining sinuously around the great stone pillars supporting the roof far above us. It's highly possible that this is the same material that the blasted idol was made of. I'm starting to hate the sight of them; they remind me too sharply of the mess we're in, and the reason we're in it. Unfortunate for me that they're here in such abundance, then. Their odd, unfamiliar appearance makes me highly wary of trying to use them to replenish my dwindling reserves of mana as well, making them doubly frustrating to look at. It's something of a tease, really.

We step out into a cavernous open space at the end of the corridor and are immediately ambushed by another group of shades and rock creatures. I curse under my breath as Varric echoes my sentiments aloud, and we dive into yet another battle, slashing, shooting and casting in a well-practised dance. We only manage to fell a few before a deep voice suddenly resonates through the chamber, a commanding tone tinged with exasperation and anger.

"Enough!" The shades melt into the shadows, and the rock things disappear straight into the ground as another rough stone being assembles itself from a pile of rubble before us. I step out in front of the others, motioning them to stay back, keeping my staff at the ready. It looks just like the creatures that have been attacking us, only slightly larger. And it can talk, apparently. I'm not sure if that's a good thing.

"You have proven your mettle. I would not see these creatures harmed without need," the thing says authoritatively, glaring at me through a brilliant ball of light that appears to serve as its eye.

I bristle in annoyance at both its words and its superior tone. "'Without need'? I'd say being attacked on sight gives us plenty of bloody need!"

"They will not assault you further. Not without _my_ permission," it says arrogantly. I narrow my eyes at the thing and prepare to speak, but Varric beats me to it, asking the question on the tip of my tongue.

"What in the Void are these things?" He nudges the collapsed remains of one with the toe of his boot, and the creature in front of me gives a displeased rumble. "They seem like rock wraiths, but... "

"They hunger," the thing interrupts unhelpfully. "The profane have lingered in this place for ages beyond memory, feeding on the magic stones until the need is all they know."

"So they're called 'profane', are they? That doesn't inspire much confidence, I'm afraid," I say, crossing my arms. "And they eat 'magic stones'? You mean the lyrium. Sounds like a healthy diet. Are you one of these profane, then?"

"I am not as they are. I am... a visitor," it says evasively.

I raise an eyebrow dubiously. "Really? Because the resemblance is uncanny."

Merrill steps forward, frowning in concentration as she stares up at the thing.

"It is a hunger demon, drawn here by their need," she says after a moment. I look sharply at the creature, reaching out my awareness cautiously and examining it closely. A demon. Well, of course it bloody is. How did I not feel it before? I think I can guess where this exchange is headed, then.

"Yes, I can sense it now." I meet the demon's gaze steadily. "You are feeding on their hunger."

"I would not see my feast end," it says, which I take as confirmation. "I sense your desire. You seek to leave this place, but you will need _my_ aid to do so."

Well, of course. Why would I imagine any different? I sigh wearily. "And you want us to make a deal with you. How disappointingly predictable."

"What do you think, sister?" Carver asks doubtfully.

I don't have to think about it. "I don't trust it. Father was always very adamant about making deals with demons," I reply quietly. "He had rather a lot to say on the subject, but his main point was always basically: 'Don't'."

"There's nothing to be afraid of. You can use it, if you're careful." Merrill says, eyeing the demon. I glance at her in shock; I wouldn't have expected her to advocate making a deal with a demon such as this. I know that she is a blood mage, an uncomfortable fact that I have gradually come to accept, if only because she uses only her own blood and never hurts those around her to achieve her ends. She's never explained exactly what she needs it for and becomes very evasive when questioned too persistently about it, though knowing her, I am certain that she can only be trying to do good somehow. But dealing directly with a demon like this one is something quite different. Maybe... maybe Dalish mages see spirits and demons differently? They certainly know a lot about different kinds of magic that I've never even heard of; perhaps Merrill knows something more about this sort of thing than I. Well, I do trust her, and if she considers this an acceptable risk, then... maybe she's right. The thought gives me pause, and I find myself considering the demon's words instead of rejecting his offer of aid outright, as was my initial impulse.

"Maybe Daisy's right, Hawke. What are our options?" Varric asks, shifting Bianca uneasily in his arms.

I look around at each of my companions, noting every minor injury I couldn't afford to heal, each scrape and cut and bruise, seeing the shadows of exhaustion under their eyes, feeling my own strength waning. We're not exactly in the best shape to fight a horde of shades and profane. I guess we really don't have much in the way of options.

"Well, it could be a way out of here. I don't know," Carver says. "But I'd appreciate it if we could decide this quickly; I'm not exactly feeling at my best." I turn my head to eye him in concern. Carver is far too proud to ever admit to being hurt or tired. The fact that he does so now is what decides me, and I face the demon again, resisting the urge to rub the back of my neck and betray my deep discomfort.

"If we agree to this, how will you help us?" I ask cautiously, careful not to make any sort of promise until I know as much as I can about what I'm getting us into. "Why do we need your aid to leave?"

I breathe in sharply in surprise as the image of a door fills my mind, accompanied a compelling feeling of certainty that this is our only way out. I can't tell if the feeling is my own intuition, or the subtle influence of the demon, which I find more than a little unnerving. I hear the startled gasps behind me and know that the demon is showing them the vision too.

"There is another door leading into the paths far above us," the demon says as the image fades slowly. "That is what you seek. It has been sealed, however, and cannot be opened without a key. I know where the key is. Do as I ask, and I shall tell you where to find it."

"A key? That's all we need?" Varric chuckles. "Well, then, we've got no problem! I'll just pick the lock, and we can be on our merry way."

"No." The demon's voice brooks no argument. "The door cannot be opened by any other means save that key: the ancient dwarves designed it for that purpose. It is meant to be accessible only to the holder of the key; a safeguard against all intruders."

"Hmph." Varric says, sounding somewhat put out. "Alright, then. So, what do you think, Hawke?"

I sigh quietly in resignation. "I don't see that we have much choice. What have we got to lose?"

The demon's eye glows brighter, and I get a sudden horrible feeling that it is grinning maniacally at me. "Very wise. There is a crypt not far from here, guarded by a creature that has confounded me for too long. Slay it... and freedom is yours."

My shoulders sag in dismay. I had hoped to avoid any more battles. "I suppose if we hadn't agreed to help you, we would probably have had to fight this thing anyway?"

"Indeed," the demon assures me. "Assuming of course that you managed to defeat the dozens of my shades and profane that I would have unleashed upon you, had you refused my offer. And even then; if they failed to kill you, then rest assured that I would have. Quite happily."

"Good to know," I mutter to myself. "At least you're being open about it. I don't suppose you care to venture any helpful details about this 'creature' you want us to fight? Like what it is, perhaps, so we know it when we see it?"

"You will know it," the demon assures me. "It is big. And powerful. And it will attempt to kill you on sight. I suggest you make every effort not to let it see you before you see it. Having said that, I must warn you; it is rather good at concealing itself, for something so very large." Now I am certain I can hear a mad grin in the bloody thing's voice.

"Wonderful." I turn to the others, trying for an encouraging smile, grasping my staff firmly in hand. "No point hanging around here, then. Much as I've enjoyed the company. Are you ready for this?"

"You can count on me, Hawke. I won't let you down! And I'll try a lot harder not to get knocked out this time, I promise," Merrill says fervently, her wide green eyes meeting mine as she grips her staff determinedly. Carver simply hefts his sword in both hands and nods firmly once.

Varric sighs, and adjusts his grip on Bianca. "Trudging off into the dark to find a big, powerful, violent, unspecified 'creature' of some sort who enjoys playing deadly games of hide and seek and apparently doesn't take kindly to visitors? Ready as I'll ever be."

"Right, then." I start walking in the direction the demon indicates, motioning for them to follow with a tilt of my head. "Let's not keep it waiting."

* * *

><p>"Varric!"<p>

Merrill moves as though to run over to Varric, who is sprawled unconscious on the ground where he fell, fortunately behind one of the giant pillars as the thing in the centre of the room suddenly sprouts a haze of red, searing light, hotter than flames. I grab her none-too-gently by both shoulders and wrench her behind another pillar just in time to avoid us both being burned alive. "Varric!" Merrill yells again, clutching at my arms for balance as we both stagger back against the column, struggling to stay standing as the rock wraith drops heavily back to the ground. "If you are faking, I will strangle you!"

"He'll be alright, Merrill," I tell her firmly, hoping desperately that I'm right. "We can't help him now. He's safe enough where he is, if we finish this quickly. Focus." She nods with determination, and bends swiftly to retrieve her dropped staff, turning her emerald eyes back to the monster in the middle of the pillars as I mirror her movements.

"It's summoning more of those bloody things!" Carver yells, darting out from behind the pillar opposite us and slashing fiercely at the shade swooping down on him, then turning to hack at a profane as it swipes clumsily at him from behind. More creatures shield the rock wraith as it slumps to the ground, recovering. "I can't get in close enough to attack it!"

"It'll be on us again in a moment!" Merrill shouts, freezing a shade in its tracks. I launch a stone fist, shattering the thing into pieces as she turns to me. "We can't go on like this. What do we do, Hawke?"

I signal to Carver, motioning him to attack the fresh wave of enemies opposite us.

"Carver, take up a defensive position opposite that pillar. Merrill, hold your ground here. Keep these bastards back as long as you can; give me a chance to get at it while it's weak!" They follow my commands without hesitation, Carver leaping over to the oncoming horde with a roar and a flash of steel, Merrill spinning on her heel and sending a spray of ice sheeting out towards a group of shades trying to flank us. I dash into the centre of the pillars as the rock wraith stirs and shifts, drawing itself laboriously off the ground. I take heart from its slow and sluggish movements; the blasted thing must be tiring. About bloody time.

The wraith suddenly twists to face me with an agility that belies its bulk, roaring in fury as it raises it massive arms and lashes out at me with a rapid flurry of strikes. Not so tired, then. Bollocks_._ _Got to end this now._

I dodge to the side, narrowly evading a crushing blow from its rough stone limb, and bring up my staff, swiftly forming a small arcane shield - inside the creature's chest cavity. The thing stumbles, scraping uselessly at its rocky ribs, and I take my chance while it's distracted, rapidly expanding the misty white orb within its chest with all the force I can muster. The wraith gives a deep echoing howl like the rumble of an earthquake as its bones fracture with a loud, resounding crack. I grit my teeth, lips twisting in a snarl as I force the shield walls to swell further, pushing out as hard as I can, splitting the thing apart from the inside out. It gives one last piteous moan before it crumbles completely, crashing in pieces to the dusty floor of the vault. Carver gives a triumphant yell as he fells the last remaining shade, and Merrill dashes over to Varric as he stirs, groaning. She rolls him over and lifts his head, pouring an elfroot potion straight down his throat as he chokes and splutters.

"Come on, Varric, it doesn't taste that bad," Merrill says, smiling in relief as he slowly opens his eyes.

Varric blinks dazedly a few times, then suddenly leaps to his feet, fully alert, raising Bianca while his eyes dart rapidly about the chamber. His gaze falls on the crumbled remains of the rock wraith, and his brows lift in surprise. He looks from the shattered stone body to me, to Merrill, and then at Carver, who sighs heavily, rolling his eyes a little in irritation, and points a finger wearily at me. Varric carefully holsters Bianca on his back and shoots me an impressed look. I suppress a grin at the astonishment on his face, instead giving him a nonchalant shrug_. No big deal_. He gives his head a little shake in amusement and walks with me over to the door on the opposite wall, Merrill and Carver falling in step behind us. This is the door the demon showed us; so far it has come through on our deal, as have we. Now we just need to find the key, and we can get the bloody Void out of here.

"The rock wraiths are supposed to be dwarven legends. They're not even supposed to be real!" Varric says as we walk away from the thing's stone corpse, sounding somewhat awestruck.

I raise an eyebrow skeptically, though not so he can see."It looked pretty real to me."

"Looked exactly like that damn demon back there, too; could be the bloody thing's father," Carver comments behind us.

My mouth curves into a half smile as I consider this possibility, and I glance at him over my shoulder. "Think we've been conned into some sort of demonic 'let's kill Daddy for the inheritance' plot?"

"I know you're joking, but you might actually be right," Varric says, holding up a hand to stop us. "Look what it was guarding!" He points to a pile of gold and miscellaneous shiny things surrounding a few treasure chests.

"Oh, how exciting!" Merrill exclaims. "It's like finding a pirate's buried treasure! Except it's not buried, just lying on the ground, there. Although, we are underground, so maybe that counts as being buried? Oh, Isabela will be so jealous when we tell her about this!"

My smile widens, both at her joyful enthusiasm and at this profitable new development. "This expedition may not be a total loss after all." I start to step forward but spin on my heel, staff in hand, as the ground erupts behind us. The hunger demon bursts from the hole, its eye burning fiercely as it glares around our little group.

"That is not yours! The key you require is in the chest. Leave all else, for it is mine."

Carver gives a short laugh. "What was it you said, sister? A demonic inheritance plot? Guess maybe I was right after all."

"Bound to happen sometime, brother," I tease reflexively, stepping out in front of the others, keeping my eyes fixed on the demon.

Varric sidles up next to me, pulling Bianca slowly from his back and giving me a little nudge. I think he's trying to be subtle. "Not to point out the obvious, but can you imagine what this stuff would be worth on the surface?" he murmurs almost under his breath. Apparently not quietly enough.

"You will not! It is mine, all of it! You may take only the key!" the demon growls, gesturing emphatically with a long stone limb.

My eyes narrow in annoyance and anger, and I tighten my grip on my staff. "Funny, I don't remember you stipulating that as part of our agreement."

The demon snarls. "Take only the key, or I shall destroy you!"

Words from one of my father's lectures echo faintly through my mind: _Demons will always turn on you. They do not honour deals; they have no honour with which to do so_. I turn to Varric, sighing wearily. We're exhausted, but if we get the jump on this thing we can take it down easily enough. I hope. "Varric? You mind?"

"Way ahead of you," he grins, aiming a bolt at the demon. "Bianca says; the treasure is ours." He fires directly into the demon's rocky skull. It crumbles without sound or struggle. Varric lowers the crossbow, a look of disgusted scorn on his face.

"Huh. Bastard went down easier than I thought. Well, that was anti-climactic. Guess I'll have some work to do to make this part of the story worth hearing. I could say the demon summoned a dragon to fight us. Maybe an ogre or two as well, and a griffon, just to make it more believable."

"Oh, Varric, don't be silly," Merrill chides him, shaking her head seriously. "A griffon would never do a demon's bidding. He'd fly down to us and save the day, and we'd soar to Kirkwall on his back."

"You're right, Daisy, of course. Thank you," Varric says, a note of amusement in his voice. "It's important I get all the little details of my stories right, otherwise they'd be totally implausible."

I grin at them both, and we turn back to the enormous pile of treasure beside the door. "The demon said the key is in the chest."

"But he didn't say which chest it's in, did he? That wasn't very helpful," Merrill frowns . "After we fought so hard to kill that rock wraith thing just like he wanted, he could have at least been a little more specific."

"You can never trust a demon," I say, shrugging a shoulder.

Merrill glances at me fleetingly and then away. There's an odd expression on her face, like something is troubling her. I open my mouth to ask her what's wrong, but before I can she looks back up at me and her expression clears as she favours me with a sweet little smile.

"You're probably right, Hawke. Can we look for the key now? I'd very much like to get out of here soon."

I return her smile and nod, bending down and rummaging through one of the chests as Merrill and Varric stoop to rifle through the chests on either side. Carver paws through a pile of gold, an avaricious glow in his eyes. My hand closes around something small and notched and metal, and I pull it out and call to the others, holding the key up triumphantly.

Varric looks up from his search through the chest. "Good, you found the key. Let's collect the best pieces we can carry out of here and then go."

We spend a few moments collecting the most valuable looking items, and gathering as many jewels and gold pieces as we can safely manage to carry, before heading over to the door. I try the key in the rusty lock, breathing a sigh of relief as it grudgingly turns in the keyhole. The door grates noisily as I swing it open, revealing yet another dusty stone corridor leading out into the darkness.

Varric peers into the gloom. "Hmm. I'd say this is our way back. Let's hope, anyway."

"How long to get back to more familiar ground?" I ask him, following his gaze. I have no clue where we are; this tunnel looks just like every other damn tunnel we've gone traipsing merrily through down here, but Varric apparently sees something I don't. I trust his judgement.

"If we're unlucky, maybe a week," he estimates, looking thoughtfully around the passageway before us.

A week doesn't sound so bad, as long as we don't run into too many Darkspawn. We should be able to stretch our meagre supplies that far. I glance at him questioningly. "And if we're lucky?"

Varric starts resolutely forward. "We stumble over Bartrand's corpse on the way back."

I laugh softly as I follow him through the door, letting Carver stride past me to march beside Varric as I drop back to walk with Merrill, giving her an encouraging smile which she returns in earnest, eyes shining. I feel my spirits lift just looking at her, the light in her eyes suffusing me with new hope and fresh optimism. Just a week at most til we make it back up to the Deep Roads, then a few days back to the surface, and we'll be safe at home in Kirkwall. The treasure we've collected will be more than enough to get Mother out of Gamlen's house, and into the real home she deserves; there's even enough for us to buy a mansion in Hightown if we want, with a fortune to spare. Perhaps I could even buy back the Amell estate from the Viscount, unless Mother has somehow managed to reclaim it from him in our absence, which seems unlikely. Maybe Carver would be able to feel something positive about our heritage, maybe it could give him a connection with something meaningful, something for him to be proud of. He might feel more like a somebody, with roots and value, instead of the way he feels now; caught in my shadow. I watch my brother as he laughs at something Varric says, giving him a friendly punch on the shoulder, and I grin at his high spirits. So much of his young life has been spent looking out for Bethany and me. Perhaps when we're settled in Hightown, with the money and position to gain a little more security from Templar scrutiny, we can work out some old grievances and gain a better understanding of each other. I would love for him to be able find his place in the world, as he so badly wants. I smile fondly at his broad back as he strides along in front of me, walking with a jaunty step.

I just want to see him find some peace.

* * *

><p>I take a closer look at the architecture of the open stone tunnel we've stumbled into, and hold up a hand, signalling a halt. "This part of the deep roads looks familiar."<p>

Varric sweeps his gaze over the walls, peering first at a crack in a pillar to my right, then at a lichen-covered Paragon statue beyond it before he nods in satisfaction. "We're back where we started. And in only five days! Not bad, eh?"

Not bad at all, considering the hordes of shades and Darkspawn that seemed to plague us at every turn. By the second day we were all covered in blood, some of it our own, but most of it from our vanquished enemies. Merrill made the best of it as always, saying that at least we all had matching outfits, now. I'm just happy to be nearly out of this hole; just a few days and we'll be back home. Proper food, proper beds, and most importantly at this point, proper baths.

"Think we could... take a break?" Carver asks suddenly from a few paces behind me. "I feel... wrong."

"We can stop for a bit." I say over my shoulder, worried by his rare admission of weakness. "Let's make camp here, if you're sick."

"Don't worry, Carver," Merrill says brightly from behind him. "Hawke is a very good healer! She'll make you feel better in no time. But you probably knew that already, since you're her brother and all."

Varric gives a sympathetic grunt as he examines the Paragon statue more closely. "Stomach troubles, eh, Junior? I'll wager it was those deep mushrooms we found."

Carver groans softly. "No... it's..."

I hear a thump behind me, and turn swiftly to see him collapsing to the ground.

"Carver!" I run to him, falling to my knees beside him, stretching out my hands to examine him with my magic, and he sits up laboriously before I can touch him... but I don't need to. There's no mistaking what's wrong with him. His eyes are glazed over with a grey clouded film, deep black circles shadowing the skin beneath them. Insidious black lines creep up his neck, over his cheeks; evidence of the darkening poisoned blood now running through his veins. Darkspawn blood. I stare at him in shock, helpless. Useless. He stares back up at me, reading his fate in my eyes, and his face twists in trepidation and fear.

"It's the blight, isn't it? Just like that Templar, Wesley. I'll be just as dead, just as gone." He grabs at his side suddenly, holding back a gasp, and I gently move his hand away from the almost unnoticeable tear in his jerkin. I know what I will see, even as I pull open the rip, exposing the raw wound in his side. It isn't too long or deep, ordinarily it wouldn't inspire much concern. But it bleeds sluggishly, the edges blackened and weeping a dark, viscous fluid; a sure sign of Darkspawn blood taint. The blight corruption. _Maker, no. No._

"Oh, Carver," I whisper. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I thought it was nothing," he says softly. "Hoped, anyway. Idiot!"

I grip his shoulder hard, staring into his once blue eyes, eyes that were so like Mother's. It almost seems as though it is her staring back at me out of his eyes, blaming me. Accusing me. "We'll find a way out!" I tell him fiercely, willing him to believe it, willing myself to believe it. "There must be some other way."

Carver shakes his head and looks at me, his wide eyes betraying the terror he is trying so desperately to conceal, and all of a sudden it's not the battle-hardened warrior I see in front of me but a little boy, my little brother, hurt and frightened and young, he looks so young. My little brother. "I'm not going to make it. Not to the surface. Not anywhere," he says hopelessly, then breathes in sharply, clutching at his side again. "It's getting worse."

I open my mouth to refute him, deny his words, but Varric crouches on Carver's other side, meeting my desperate gaze with steady, sorrowful eyes.

"We're in the middle of nowhere, Hawke," Varric says gently, sadly. "We can't help him."

Merrill gives a little sob and kneels next to me, placing her hand over mine where it rests on Carver's shoulder. "Oh, no, Carver, I'm so sorry."

Carver lifts his hand and places it over both of ours, trying to smile at us, and then struggles to his knees and lifts his head to gaze at me. His face is composed, now. Accepting. He holds my eyes with his own, unblinking, and my heart twists with dread as I know what he is about to ask of me. I don't want to hear it; I can't bear to hear him say it. _Why? Maker, why?_

"You'll do it, won't you, sis?"

A dry sob escapes me before I can stop it."You always did ask for the world, Carver."

"And you always gave it." His eyes are sad, regretful, but the small smile he gives me is calm. Loving, even. "We haven't always seen eye to eye, and I haven't been as supportive of you as I should have been, and for that, I'm sorry. I love you, sister. I wish I'd said it more often. Please. Do this for me."

I close my eyes, fighting back tears. _No. You're his big sister. Be strong for him. Don't fail him further. _I hear Varric stir, feel him move around behind me, hear his whispered, "Come on, Daisy." I feel her hand touch my shoulder briefly, and then hear their footsteps as they move a short distance away.

I force my eyes open again and meet his clouded gaze, biting my lip to keep it from quivering. But I can't keep the tremor from my voice as I speak, my tone plaintive, pleading.

"How can I kill my own brother?"

He reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder, grasping it tightly. "Because he's asking you to. Please, sister." My heart rips into bleeding, ragged pieces. Carver takes a few deep, shaking breaths, and his fingers dig into my shoulder as he gasps in pain. He lets out a slow, controlled breath after a moment, and his gaze intensifies.

"It's just you now," he says, lifting a hand briefly to my cheek. "Take care of Mother."

I nod once, a silent promise, and hang my head, closing my eyes tight against the pain and the horror and the crushing guilt that fills me. Carver pulls me to him, trying to comfort me, embracing me as we kneel on the cold stone ground. I can't remember the last time he hugged me. Not since we were children, surely. I hold him close for the last time, trying not to break down.

"You've always been the strongest of us, Carver. I love you. May Andraste guide you, little brother." My voice breaks on the last word as I place my hand gently on the back of his neck and channel my mana through my fingertips, sending him into a deep, painless sleep. He sighs, eyes closing, and his head drops down to rest on my shoulder. I lower him to the ground, cradling his head against my chest, stroking his cheek, holding him to me as I try to find the courage to do what I must do. How young, and calm, and innocent he looks. How peaceful. _Oh, Maker_.

My belt knife is in my hand. I don't remember drawing it.

I stare blankly at the blade in my hand. I know what I have to do... I know... but I...

I can't. I have to. _I can't._

Carver's deep breathing falters and he gives a faint but agonised gasp, the pain of the poison in his blood breaking through even into his enchanted sleep. I can't let him linger like this. I have to. I have to...

_Do it._

The blade slips easily between his ribs, piercing his heart. He breathes in once, a soft, quivering breath, then lets it out in a long, drawn out gasp. He does not draw another.

He didn't suffer. I gaze down at him. There are tears on his face, but they aren't his. He didn't suffer. I clutch him to me, rocking him. There are slender arms around my shoulders, a lilting voice in my ear, but I can't hear the words. I draw out the knife and let it fall, then just sit there, on the unforgiving stone ground of this wretched hole, holding the body of my baby brother in my arms.

He didn't suffer.

* * *

><p>The flames die down eventually. I channel mana and shift the earth beneath the ashes, entombing it all in impenetrable rock. We had to run and leave Bethany, leave her body for the Darkspawn. They will not have him, too. They will not.<p>

Varric stands opposite me beside the new grave, hands clasped in front of him, gazing down solemnly. Merrill is at my side, wiping at the stray tears that roll down her cheeks. None of us have spoken in a long time. I should say something. I don't know what to say. What can I say. I can't move. Can't speak. The silence draws out unbearably.

Then Merrill stirs beside me. I feel her take my hand in hers, entwining her slender fingers with mine. She takes a deep breath, lifting her head, and her musical voice pierces through my numbing grief.

"_O Falon'Din Lethanavir_. Friend to the Dead, guide his feet, calm his soul. Lead him to his rest." She falls silent, and I turn my head to look at her. She is gazing at me with sorrow in her eyes, and she speaks again softly in answer to my unspoken query.

"It is an elven prayer. It implores Falon'Din, the Friend of the Dead, to guide the soul of the departed across the Veil." She presses my fingers firmly in hers."Carver is at peace, now."

The tears come then, running silently down my face, and I grasp her hand tightly. "Thank you," I whisper, and she nods once, still squeezing my hand tight. I take a breath, and find the words I need to say. They aren't enough. Nothing I say could ever be enough. But I must say something.

"I will protect Mother, I promise. I won't fail you again. I love you, Carver." My voice is shaking. Merrill leans her head against my shoulder. I draw another quivering breath.

"I'm so sorry."

* * *

><p>xxx M xxx<p>

* * *

><p>I wake suddenly in the darkness from a fitful sleep, casting around for a moment before I remember where I am; still in the Deep Roads, my bedroll placed between Varric's and Hawke's.<p>

_Oh, Hawke_.

Just thinking her name brings it all back; what happened today, to Carver, and what he asked of her. What she had to do. I can't get that terrible scene out of my head. Varric pulled me away, told me not to watch, but I just couldn't let Hawke go through that all alone. I owed it to both of them to witness. But now I can't stop seeing it over and over in my mind. Poor Carver. Poor Hawke. This is all just so awful. I've lost friends to the Darkspawn and their taint before, in different ways. Tamlen... Mahariel... but to have to kill your own brother, to have to hear him beg you to end his life... I cannot imagine what this must be like for Hawke.

After we laid Carver to rest, we had to keep going through the Deep Roads. She was so quiet as we walked, she barely said anything at all, not even when we set up camp here. She was in so much pain. I'm sure she blames herself for her brother's death. Unfairly, of course. This wasn't her fault at all. I wanted to comfort her, but I didn't know what to say. I suppose I'd only have said something wrong, if I tried, which would have only made Hawke feel worse, and that's the last thing I want. I wish I was better with people. I wish I knew how to help her.

I can hear Varric's deep breathing on my left. I'm glad he finally gave in and got some sleep. He's been sleeping poorly ever since what happened with Bartrand and the idol. He'd never let on, but I think what happened with his brother hurt him very badly, and losing Carver today was just too much for him to bear. I think he is feeling guilty too, though it isn't his fault either. But I don't blame him for retreating into sleep. I wish him good dreams, or since that seems unlikey, at least no nightmares, then. I turn my head to the right to look at Hawke, to see if she's sleeping, if she's alright.

Her bedroll is empty. She isn't there.

I sit up quickly, looking around our small camp. I can't see her at all. Where could she be? I feel a stab of fear and consider waking Varric, but think better of it and let him keep sleeping. _Don't panic, Merrill. I'm sure she's not gone far. She's not foolish enough to go and get herself lost in the Deep Roads on her own._ Leaving Varric to his rest, I stand quietly and grab my staff. I can find her on my own. She won't be far, I'm sure. But I have to make certain she's alright.

I clamber quietly over my bedroll and immediately stumble over something lying next to Hawke's bedding, mercifully managing not to fall flat on my face. I peer down at the ground, looking for the offending object. It's... it's her staff. She left it here. She's gone off into the darkness without her staff, completely unprotected and alone. Why would she? She can't be thinking clearly, or she would never have left it behind, or left the camp at all. Not after all Anders' horrific warnings about broodmothers, and what the Grey Wardens discovered... how the Darkspawn capture women and taint them and then... take them, _violate_ them... oh, Mythal, no, I have to find her! I have to bring her back, now, before... before...

I fight down my rising terror and step away from our tiny campfire, moving quickly towards the surrounding darkness. It is only when I reach the edge of the light from the dying flames that I realise I have no idea which way Hawke might have gone. We're camped in the heart of a cavern in the middle of two corridors. She could have gone in any direction.

_Mythal, Great Protector, lead my steps, light my path. Guide me to her. Please, let me find her. Let her be safe._

I step carefully past the protective spells around the camp perimeter, then choose a direction at random and cast a light with my staff, walking slowly into the dark, checking over my shoulder every few steps to make sure I can still see the glow of the campfire. I'll be no use at all to Hawke if I get myself lost as well. I can still see the dim light of the flames in the distance when I hear a faint sound, quite close by. I freeze, gripping my staff tightly. I really hope it isn't Darkspawn. I slow my breathing, listening intently, and I hear it again, louder. I recognise the sound now. It was a sob. Someone's crying. My throat tightens. She's crying. _Oh, Hawke._

I follow the sound, moving faster, becoming frantic to reach her as her heart-wrenching sobs grow louder. I pass behind a towering pillar of rock, and there she is, kneeling forlornly beneath the column, curled in on herself and weeping desperately into her hands. I've never seen her like this. She's so hurt. My heart bleeds for her, and I fall to my knees at her side, whispering her name and reaching out my hand to touch her shoulder gently. She gives a start and looks up, eyes darting frantically before they come to rest on my face, and she sits up quickly, gazing down despondently into her lap. She looks... ashamed, almost. _What in Mythal's name have you to be ashamed of?_

"I'm sorry, Merrill," she says, her voice shaking, trying to stifle her sobs as she wipes at her eyes.

"Hawke," I whisper, staying her hand, holding it tightly in my own. "It is alright to cry. There can be no shame in tears shed for those we've lost."

She draws an uneven breath, eyes downcast. She won't look at me. "I feel as though... I've no right to mourn him. This is all my fault. I brought him down here. It's my fault, Merrill... " Her voice falters and she gives a quiet cry of anguish and despair. "It's my _fault!"_

_Creators._ I take her other hand in mine and clasp them both tightly. "No. Hawke, look at me," I say firmly. Her hands tremble in mine, and she looks up slowly after a moment, meeting my gaze hesitantly."Lethallan, please believe me. This was not your fault."

She drops her eyes and shuts them tightly, shaking her head. "I shouldn't have listened to him. I should have left him at home, safe, whatever he said. I felt it - that terrible, warning feeling, but I ignored it. I just thought it was guilt because Mother didn't want me to take him, and she was right! Oh, Andraste forgive me. My little brother... I killed my little brother..." Her voice breaks and she sobs raggedly, broken. I can't bear it; I pull her to me and fold her in my arms, holding her tightly as she clutches at my tunic and cries into my shoulder. I wish there was something more I could do for her. Mythal, I'd do anything to stop her feeling such hurt. But there is nothing I can do to fix something like this. All I can do is try to help her through. I stroke her hair, rocking her gently as her body shakes with deep, wracking sobs. I can be there for her, as best as I can. She has always been there for me.

She cries for a long time, only stopping when she eventually succumbs to her deep weariness and slips into an exhausted sleep, her head heavy on my shoulder. Even so, her body still trembles with the occasional wrenching sob. I lean against the pillar, supporting her against me, running a hand gently through her silken hair. My Hawke. I'll need to wake her eventually, and get us back to camp; I don't want to alarm Varric, letting him wake alone down here. He'd be so worried about us. And we aren't exactly safe staying out here in the dark like this. I glance down, eyes searching out my staff where it lies at my side, well within reach if anything comes for us. _If something does_, _I will protect her_, I think, holding her close, lifting my head and glaring into the dark as fiercely as I can manage. _They will not take her; I won't let them._

_This time, I will keep her safe._


	8. Chapter 8

_This chapter isn't much, really. Just an end to act one, paving the way for the next. A bit of resolution, but every chapter gets us a little closer to finally getting these two crazy kids together. Thanks so much for reading, and thank you reviewers, you inspire me to keep writing! Thank you!_

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><p>xxx M xxx<p>

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><p>"Home sweet home," Varric says with a sigh of relief, gazing up at the weird, oversized human-shaped thing dangling by its feet over the door of the Hanged Man. "Finally. I wonder if Bartrand came back to the city. You think I'd be that lucky?"<p>

Hawke turns towards him, responding almost automatically to his voice, her eyes dark and sad and angry and without any trace of their old joyful spark of blue flame. They've been that way all the way back to the surface, ever since she... ever since Carver died.

"I don't care about Bartrand. Revenge isn't exactly the most pressing thing on my mind right now," she says flatly, her face hard as she looks at him with reproach. Varric winces at her tone, as though she screamed it at him. But she doesn't blame him, doesn't he realise that? It's not him she's angry at. It's herself. She still believes it was her fault, no matter what I said to her. I couldn't make her feel better, couldn't find the right thing to say. Of course I couldn't, no different than usual, really. Foolish of me to think I could help.

Varric casts his eyes down, looking chastened. "I know. I'm... sorry about what happened to your brother. If anyone is to blame for all this, it's me. I got you into this whole Maker-blasted expedition in the first place. And I should have seen Bartrand's betrayal coming. I swear, I'll find that maggot if it's the last thing I do."

She sighs, her expression softening, and shakes her head. "Varric, I'm not blaming you. It wasn't your fault. None of us could have foreseen what would happen." He nods slowly, though he doesn't seem convinced. Or perhaps he doesn't think she's really being sincere. It seems a lot of people get confused about that, apparently. I suppose I'm glad I'm not the only one who can't always tell. Not that I'm up to feeling glad about anything at the moment, really.

"Hawke is right, Varric," I say, although I keep my gaze resting steadily on Hawke. "No one is to blame. For any of it." _That includes you, lethallan. Please believe me._ She meets my eyes for a brief moment, then looks away, letting her head drop dejectedly. Her short hair falls in a curtain across her eyes, but not before I see a glistening tear trace a silent path down her cheek. Oh,_ Hawke.._. She turns away from us, towards her uncle's house, though her gaze remains fixed on the dusty ground.

Varric glances up at her despondent figure, noting the way she's facing, and then shares a concerned look with me. "I imagine you'll be heading home to... tell the family..." he asks hesitantly.

She lifts her head slowly, staring at the house at the end of the street, the house where her mother is waiting inside. Waiting for her children to come home. "I don't have much choice," she says, her voice bleak. She looks away, turning back towards us. The look on her face stops my heart. I must have let it show somehow; she blinks in surprise as she looks at me, and then she wipes her expression, replacing it with a small, tight almost-smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "I just have to get through it, and then... one day at a time, I suppose."

Varric tugs uncomfortably at one of his earrings, apparently at a loss for words. Under different circumstances, I suppose I might find it curious, Varric being speechless, funny, even. But not now. Varric drops his hand, looking up at Hawke sympathetically. "You'll be a wealthy woman, Hawke," he says, his tone consoling. "It wasn't all for nothing." I squeeze my eyes shut briefly at his ill-chosen words, sighing without sound. _Oh, Varric, I know you mean well, but I really doubt that will help. _He opens his mouth as if to say something more, then shakes his head a little, thankfully thinking better of it. He picks up the pack of gold and relics lying at his feet, and then opens the door to the Hanged Man, giving us a slight wave as he disappears inside.

Hawke stares after him with a stricken look on her face. "I'd give it all for my brother's life," she whispers. I take her hand in mine. I don't know if she meant for me to hear her, I don't think so, but I take her hand anyway. She squeezes my fingers tightly, and gives me the faintest suggestion of a fleeting smile. I think there's just a bit more warmth in it, this time, though.

"Thank you, Merrill."

I smile for her, as best I can, and I think I see something change in her eyes; just for a moment, a flash of fire reignites the flame briefly in their blue depths. Well, that's a little better. "I'll walk with you to your house, Hawke. I can find my way to the alienage just fine from there, don't worry." I glance up nervously at the twilit sky above. "Although it would be easier before the sun sets completely. Everything looks so different at night, it gets very confusing."

She nods in quiet agreement, still holding my hand, and draws a deep breath. She starts to move slowly down the lane towards her house, and then suddenly stops mid-step, standing dead still in the middle of the street. I gaze up at her in concern.

"Hawke?"

She takes a moment to answer, eyes still fixed on the distant house. "No... no, let's... let's get you home, first." She tears her gaze away from the house and turns slightly to look at me."I'd feel better making sure you're safe at home before I do anything else." Her words are reasonable, her voice calm, but there's an underlying note of pleading in her tone, begging me not to argue, not to question. So I won't. She's not ready, not yet. I understand.

"Alright, lethallan. Thank you," I say quietly, and she breathes out with something like relief and turns rapidly despite the heavy pack on her shoulder, keeping a tight hold of my hand, leading me quickly in the opposite direction. She must be taking us the long way back to the alienage. At least, I think that's what she's doing, I'm still not very good at finding my way about in Lowtown. Or anywhere else, really. She must not want to go past her house yet, in case her mother sees her, I suppose. I take a few running steps so that I'm walking by her side, not tripping along behind her, and she slows her pace, glancing at me apologetically. I shake my head a little and smile before she can say anything, _it doesn't matter_, and we walk together in silence through the back streets of Lowtown, not speaking again until we reach my door and go inside.

It smells a bit odd in here. Although I suppose it would do, after being shut up for so long while I was away. I take a quick look around as Hawke drops her pack by the door and bends down in front of the hearth, lighting the fire. Everything looks the same, just as I left it. Looks like I haven't been burgled while I was away. Not even a little bit. How disappointing. They still must not like me, then. Even so, I'm pleased to home, which is a strange feeling, really, being glad to be back here. Oh, and I just thought of this place as 'home', didn't I? Hmm. Well, I suppose it is, now.

Hawke stands, jolting me abruptly from my inner ramblings, and sits wearily on the bench before the newly kindled fire, her back to the flames. She looks so forlorn. She's thinking about Carver again, she must be. If only I could help her. I wish I knew how. I move to sit next to her, twisting my hands awkwardly together in my lap. I have to try.

"I just wanted to say again that I'm so sorry, Hawke." She turns her head to look at me. I bite my lip; her eyes are so sad. "Carver will be missed. The blight sickness is terrible. At least he didn't suffer."

Hawke closes her eyes at my words, but nods, once. "Thank you, Merrill. This... isn't easy for me." She looks at me again. "I'm glad you're trying to help."

_I am trying, I really am._ "I wish I could do more."

She reaches out so that she can lift one of my hands from my lap, and holds it in her own, offering me the barest flicker of a real smile. Still, it's better than anything she's managed so far. Her fingers rub gently along an old, fading scar across my palm, one of many. It makes me shiver, a little. It feels nice. I don't think she quite realises she's doing it, though. She seems very... distant, I suppose.

"The hardest part is still coming," she says after a moment, her eyes straying to the door. She looks sadder than ever, if that's even possible. "I still have to give my mother the news when I leave here."

"I know, I'm so sorry, Hawke." Poor Leandra. She's always been so nice to me, so gentle and kind and generous. I can see where Hawke gets it from. She doesn't deserve something like this; neither of them deserves it. Leandra will be so upset. More than upset. "Elgar'nan! She will be devastated! Oh... I'm not helping, am I? Shut up, Merrill." _Creators, did I really just say that? Out loud? No, Merrill, you are most certainly not helping. That is definitely the complete opposite of helping!_ Hawke's gaze snaps to mine at my careless exclamation, her eyes full of dread and hurt. _Creators, Merrill, what have you done? Fix it, make it better, say something, anything!_ "I'm sorry, I didn't mean... If there's anything I can do, like... not talking anymore, I'll do it. Only, first..."

I place my other hand gently on her shoulder, holding her eyes. If she won't hear me this time, I doubt if anything I could say would help. If I could just make her feel a little better, see a hint of hope in her eyes again... "Lethallan, please. Listen to me. You can't go on like this, believing it was your fault. It wasn't. Carver chose to come with you, you didn't force him. It was no one's fault, what happened. You did the only thing you could."

Her hand jerks in mine, but she doesn't let go, and she doesn't look away from me. "I doubt my mother will agree."

"Leandra is a good woman. She will understand."

Her eyes are bleak. "Eventually, perhaps."

I won't let her keep doing this to herself. "She loves you. She will be hurt, of course she will, but she will see the truth. It was not your fault." I lean closer to her, to look straight into her eyes and make her believe me. "No matter what, I'm here for you, Hawke."

The smile Hawke gives me reaches her eyes at last, making them shine. It's a real smile, the kind that makes my heart flutter in my chest. "I know. That means a lot to me." Her smile doesn't fade; in fact, I could swear it only grows wider as she gazes at me. "You've been wonderful through all this. Thank you, Merrill. For everything."

"You don't have to thank me. You've done so much for me."

Hawke leans over abruptly and kisses me on the cheek, then hugs me tightly. My heart skips a beat at her touch, and I hug her back happily, though I feel a little guilty for enjoying it so much, right now. She holds it for a long time before she finally lets me go and stands, going to her pack and pulling out a large bag of gold coins. She comes back over and offers it to me. I stare at it, confused, and then look up at her quizzically. She smiles at me again. At this rate, my heart is just going to stop completely.

"It's your share," she explains patiently.

My eyes widen, and I glance sharply at the bag she's holding out to me. "My share? But this was your expedition, Hawke. I didn't expect-"

She thrusts it into my hands, silencing my protests with a firm shake of her head. "You were a full and highly useful member of the venture, not just along for the ride. You earned this. It's yours."

I weigh the bag in my hands, holding it gingerly. "I-I've never held so much coin."

She hefts her pack on one shoulder, adjusting it as she walks back over to stand in front of me. "Neither have I. It will take some getting used to, won't it? Mind you keep it somewhere safe and don't spend too much at once; we don't want you attracting notice and getting robbed blind, now, do we?"

"I'll be careful, Hawke." Hmm. I do have something worth stealing, now. Perhaps I'll finally get burgled! A proper alienage greeting. Although I'd rather not lose my sight as well. How would someone do that, rob me blind? I didn't know there was such a thing as an eye-thief, why would anyone want to steal them? And I would have thought I'd see it if someone tried to take my eyes right out of my head. They'd have to be very good to get away with it, wouldn't they? I bet Isabela could do it, though; she knows a lot about... thiefiness. And I did hear her tell Fenris that she would like to pluck out his eyes and make a necklace, because elves have such pretty eyes, but... she was only joking, wasn't she? At least, I thought she was. People don't really do that, surely; it's probably just another one of those expressions I don't get. Perhaps Hawke is right, though; I should hide the coin, and try not to attract attention by spending it all. Although... I could get a lot of books with this. I found a wonderful stall in the market before we left for the Deep Roads that had all sorts of books, even some very old ones on magic, although I doubt the merchant knew exactly what he had. Surely if he did, he wouldn't sell them so openly for fear of the guardsmen, and the Chantry, and the Templars and all. I wonder if he's still there? Maybe he's even got some... some dirty books, like the ones Isabela keeps showing me. Stories about men and women, women and women, and the things they do together... She has a big collection. Lots of them even have pictures. She shows me those the most; she says she makes me look at them because she loves it when I blush, and I suppose I do, but some of them are really quite fascinating, and anyway, it isn't really the pictures that make me blush, exactly. It's the ideas they put in my head, and the images, not of the women in the books, but of...

Hawke clears her throat gently. I jump, startled out of my imaginings, and look up at her. She raises an elegant eyebrow at me.

"I know what you're thinking, Merrill."

I feel my face getting hot, and let out a small, nervous giggle. She doesn't really, does she? She can't. _Mythal, please no, it's too embarrassing!_ "You do?"

"I know you too well," she says seriously._ Oh, dear._ I hold my breath apprehensively as she looks at me, a knowing expression on her face.

"You're going to spend the whole lot on books, aren't you?"

_Oh._ I give her a bashful smile, feeling a surge of relief that she doesn't realise what I'm really thinking. And yet somehow, oddly, I also feel disappointed. Sometimes I wish she could see inside my head, then she would know, at least, and maybe she'd... but it's foolish of me to even dream that she might share my feelings. A human with an elf... One of the elvhen, hopelessly in love with a human. Marethari would tell me I should be ashamed, I'm certain, in that terrible angry tone of hers that makes me tremble right to my bones. Dalish aren't meant to love outside the People. I'm supposed to preserve who we are. My clan would be outraged if they knew what I feel... not that they could be any more angry with me than they are already, I suppose. And it doesn't matter. They don't know. Nobody knows. Hawke doesn't know, and if she did, she wouldn't... It can't possibly come to anything.

Hawke tousles my hair in an affectionate manner. A friendly manner, I suppose. Of course.

"Just please promise me that you'll use some of it to buy food, won't you?" she says, a trace of her old wonderful humour back in her voice. Hearing it instantly makes me feel a little better. She can always make me feel better. I wish I could say I can do the same for her.

"I will, I promise." She nods in satisfaction and strides over to the door, and stops, hesitating for a moment; then she takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders resolutely before she moves to open it.

"Hawke... "

She pauses, turning to look at me, her hand on the doorknob. I meet her eyes across the room.

"You'll be alright, won't you?" I ask her worriedly.

She looks at me for a moment, and then smiles gently, a real, warm, beautiful smile. "I will be, thanks to you." _Oh! _She gives me a little wave, and opens the door, stepping out into the lonely quiet of the alienage. I get one last glimpse of her graceful form silhouetted in the waning light, lingering for a moment on the threshold, before the door shuts quietly behind her, and I'm alone. I'm not sure what to do with myself, now.

I hear a metallic clinking and look down, realising I'm still holding the bag of gold in my hands. There's so much! Hawke is so generous. This could feed and clothe my whole clan for a year, at least. It's certainly more than I need for myself. Perhaps I could give it to them? Although I doubt if they'd accept it from me. And I don't want to go back there alone, not without having accomplished what I set out to do, at least. Not until I can prove myself to them. To the Keeper. And Hawke is probably going to be very busy now, taking care of her mother, and getting them a home away from her grumpy uncle, and all. She won't have time to go wandering off to Sundermount just because I'm afraid to face my clan by myself. She probably won't have time to see me much at all, soon.

I shake my head to stop my miserable thoughts and stand, walking into my small bedroom, dropping the gold onto my bed before kneeling and lifting a loose floorboard beneath the little table against the wall. I reach in and carefully draw out the cloth wrapped bundle I hid before I left, just in case anyone actually did decide to rob me. Not that I think anyone would steal something like this: they would see it only as a piece of broken glass, but I didn't want to risk it being broken further. I hold the fragile shard of the eluvian reverently in my hands before placing it gently on the table and picking up the bag of gold from the bed. I hide the bag away safely in the dark hole, slipping out a few coins before I replace the floorboard carefully. I can use the money to get some more glass to join my shard to, and then use blood magic to bind and transform the new glass into the same curious unreflective substance as the broken piece, just as the... the spirit taught me. And of course, a mirror needs a frame, doesn't it? Perhaps I can find one in that strange underground shop in Darktown that Hawke took me to once. It had a lot of odd things in it. I'm sure I'll find something I can use. If I don't have Hawke, then at least I have the eluvian to keep me company. I can lose myself in my work, and maybe I won't really notice if she isn't around so much, if I don't get to see her every day, hear her lovely voice, and see her beautiful smile, her blazing eyes. Maybe I won't miss her as fiercely as I do already. And she only just left. _Creators._

I pick up the shard again to distract myself, and feel a raw throb of old, old magic pulse beneath my fingers. It responds to my touch, even through the protective layer of cloth. I can sense the power of it, even inside this small piece. And something else, like a... a presence, a consciousness, although it doesn't seem wakeful. Still... it's almost as if it calls to me, even through its slumber. Perhaps it somehow senses that I am a descendent of the ancient elvhen mages who made it? Maybe it is aware of my intentions. It will take a very long time to mend, even with... help... but I am sure it will be worth it. The knowledge contained within this eluvian could bring back so much to my people, so much of who we once were. I must restore it; it is my place to recover our lost heritage. It is my duty.

I carefully unfold the little bundle of cloth and stroke a finger gently over the smooth, cool surface of my eluvian shard, examining it for a moment, before I slowly reach for my belt knife and draw it, the blade glinting wickedly in the light of the fire. The eluvian shard throbs eagerly in my hand.

I have quite a lot to do.

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><p>xxx H xxx<p>

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><p>I close the rickety door of Gamlen's house softly behind me, sightlessly gazing over the roofs of Lowtown as the dawn light creeps over the horizon, bathing the world in a blood red glow. Fitting. I take a step forward and stumble a little as my deeply fatigued body betrays me, reminding me suddenly that it has now been at least full day and night since I rested. But I can't succumb to sleep, not yet. This isn't over, not for me. There's still something I need to do, someone I need to see, and I doubt I can put my mind at ease until I do.<p>

Night had almost fallen when I left Merrill's home, a dangerous time to be wandering the streets of Lowtown alone, but I met no one as I made my slow way back to Uncle's house, not one Coterie member, or even a Sharp. A pity. I wouldn't have minded an outlet for my grief, my anger. My guilt. I know what Merrill was trying to say to me had truth to it; she doesn't know how to lie. Just being around her eased much of my sorrow, and soothed my heartache. Hearing the conviction in her words and seeing the light of truth shining in her eyes helped me more than I could tell her, but even so, deep down, the guilt remained, no matter what she said. I still feel it. I'm not so certain I shouldn't.

Mother is sleeping now, at last. She cried inconsolably for hours after I told her. It took me a long time to be able to tell her everything without breaking down completely myself. She shouldn't wake for hours yet; her mind has retreated into the deep silent sleep of exhausted grief. I left Gamlen to watch over her, but now I need someone to talk to, someone who knows, who understands. I start down the steps in the half-light, walking slowly past the Hanged Man and taking a right through the market, heading towards the steps to Hightown. I keep seeing the awful homecoming scene in my mind, replaying it endlessly: The joyful look on Mother's face as she saw me come through the door; the love and relief in her voice as she greeted me, replaced by anxiety and fear when she saw I was alone. The knowing dread in her voice as she asked me, haltingly, where Carver was. The look, Maker, that heartbreaking look on her face when I told her he wasn't coming back, that I had lost him, failed him... There were tears, and recriminations, as I expected. She blamed me for Carver's death, just like she blamed me when Bethany was killed defending her from that Maker-damned ogre. She apologised quickly once she came back to herself a little, telling me she didn't mean it, clutching me to her tearfully, but it still hurt very deeply to hear her say it. There was more truth to her accusations this time; I could have prevented it if only I had forced him to stay behind. That's what hurts the most. I could never have reached Bethany in time to stop her, but I could have kept Carver safe. I could have. Instead I had to put him to the blade myself. There's only one person I know who has been in my situation, who could come close to knowing what I'm feeling.

The sun is well and truly rising as I finally reach the Hightown market square and turn my steps towards the Viscount's Keep. She'll be awake, pacing in her new and well-deserved office, worrying furiously over the problems of the city, even this early. Ever the dutiful sentinel of the city: ever alert, ever on guard, her stern, unyielding exterior shielding a sensitive soul and a warm heart. She may not wear it on her sleeve but I know she cares deeply, for those under her charge and for all the inhabitants of Kirkwall. It's what will make her a magnificent Guard-Captain. And it's one of the many reasons why I respect her greatly, and value her as my friend.

The man on guard by the great door of the imposing old building nods at me familiarly as I climb up the last of the long run of stairs to the Keep. "Serah Hawke. It's good to see you."

I nod back in recognition. "Guardsman Donnic. Well met. Do you know if Aveline is about? I know it's early..."

He barks an amused laugh. "Not for the Captain. She'll be in her office. If I didn't know better, I'd swear she never sleeps! Uh, not that I know better from, uh, personal experience, you understand. We all live, work and sleep in such close proximity in the barracks, that's all I meant, of course." His face reddens. Any other day, and I might find it intriguing, but as it is, all I want to do is get inside.

"Of course. Do you think she'd mind me interrupting her?" I ask to distract him, trying to spare the poor man further embarrassment.

He smiles gratefully, and hastens to answer. "The Keep isn't officially open to visitors and petitioners this early, but I'm sure Aveline... uh, the Captain, I mean. That is, I'm certain she'd be happy to see you. She's been quite worried about you, and your Deep Roads excursion. I for one am glad to see you're back."

I haven't been able to really smile again since I left Merrill, but I attempt to give Donnic a friendly grin in return, unconvincing as it must be, and give him a word of thanks as he lets me through. A good man.

I make my way through the hallway and up the small stairs in the strangely quiet anteroom, the conspicuous absence of servants, guardsmen and petitioners giving the place an odd, abandoned air, as though I've entered an old ruin, or touched the otherworldly echo of this place in the Fade. I almost feel as though I can expect to be accosted by demons at any second. I shake off that last deeply unsettling thought and walk down the hall towards the barracks, my footsteps ringing eerily through the silent corridor.

The door of her office is wide open, and sure enough, there she is, fully armed and armoured, as always, standing behind her desk and staring down at the massive pile of paperwork littering the gleaming wooden surface with a look of utter disgust. I lean in the doorway and watch her for a moment. All that administrative waffle must really be pushing her to the limit if she hasn't yet noticed my presence. Can't say I blame her; if it was me, I'd probably end up burning the lot and just claiming I never got it. I doubt I'd last very long in the position after that. She continues to remain unaware of my scrutiny, engaged as she is in a one-sided staring contest with an inanimate pile of insolently indifferent manuscript.

Eventually I decide to simply announce myself. "Every time I come in here you tell me there's nowhere you'd rather be. Right now you look as though you'd rather be anywhere else."

She looks up, startled, and then lets a glad grin spread over her features as she sees me. It softens her, when she smiles, makes her look younger, gentler. Less overburdened by a world rife with villains, thugs and puppy kickers. "Hawke! You're back!"

I push off the doorframe and step inside, closing the door softly behind me. "A far cry from beating down brigands on patrol, hmm?"

"I still get to do that too, if not as frequently as I would like," Aveline says, stepping out from behind her desk and striding over to clasp my hand in hers. "It's so good to see you."

The abject look of relief on her face is mirrored in the tone of her voice; and made painfully obvious in the pressure of her fingers as she holds my hand in a tight, crushing grip, shaking it warmly in as much of a display of affection as she ever gives. She must have been concerned indeed, to let her feelings show so openly. I feel a stab of guilt for being the cause of her unease. "Guardsman Donnic said you have been worrying about me."

She releases my hand, eyes widening a little, and crosses her arms across her chest. "Oh, did he, now?"

"I'm sure he didn't mean to overstep his bounds-" I begin worriedly, but she shakes her head to stop my words.

"No, no, that isn't what concerns me. He was right, after all. I just hadn't realised I was being so obvious." She sighs, leaning back against the edge of her desk. "You have had me quite anxious, I admit. I had heard that most of your expedition had returned, but without you and the others. I investigated, of course, but was met with either ignorance or silence. I was about to summon the courage to tell Leandra that you were considered missing." She smiles warmly at me again. "I am glad you all returned safely."

I wince, recalled abruptly to why I came, and look down briefly before I slowly lift my gaze to meet her eyes. "Not all."

Her smile slowly fades, a fleeting look of apprehension crossing her features before being replaced by her cautious mask of stoicism. "Who?" Aveline asks eventually, her voice quiet.

I take a breath, steadying myself. "Carver."

She closes her eyes, and then steps forward to grip me by the shoulder in sympathy. "Maker. I'm sorry, Hawke." I can only nod silently, suddenly not trusting myself to speak. She guides me over to a small table in the corner near a window, and motions for me to sit, waiting until I've mastered myself before she speaks again. "What happened?"

I tell her the whole story, matter-of-factly as I can, at first, everything from the discovery of the thaig and Bartrand's betrayal, to the hunger demon's deal, the passage back to the Deep Roads and the rock wraith's treasure, finally ending with our laborious ascent through the Darkspawn filled tunnels and our discovery of Carver's condition. My voice suddenly fails me at this point, and I take a moment to control my emotions. Aveline doesn't comment. There is a tight look around her eyes, betraying the terrible memories my words must be reawakening for her, though she listens quietly, waiting patiently until I can go on.

"We were days from the surface. He couldn't keep going, and I could do nothing for him. He asked me to..." I hesitate, and then force myself to continue speaking past the lump in my throat. "He asked me to end it for him."

"So you did." There is no question in her voice, but I answer anyway.

"Yes."

"At his behest."

I squeeze my eyes shut briefly at the memory. _Please, sister_. "Yes."

"But you still blame yourself for his death. Worse, you feel as though you murdered him, because it was you who struck the blow."

I'm a little taken aback at the bluntness of her words, but I nod, unable to meet her eyes properly. She remains still for a few moments, regarding me silently, expressionless.

Finally she speaks again. "I have a question, Hawke." Oddly, her voice is lighter, almost conversational, as though we are speaking of a more pleasant topic. I'm not sure what she's doing, but the strangeness of it causes me to look up at her sharply. She holds my gaze, engaging my attention completely, which is probably just what she intended.

"Do you remember what we talked about, when you came to see me right after I was named Captain?"

"I asked you why you blamed yourself for what happened to Wesley," I respond immediately. I don't even have to think about it; I know exactly what she's referring to. It's not the only reason I came to her, but truthfully it is the main reason I'm here. I remember what she said almost word for word "You said that despite the fact that he asked you to do it, you still feel that you let him down. That you knew in your head that it was right, that you had to, but that in your heart, the cut was cruel."

Aveline lifts an eyebrow slightly in surprise. "You recall what I said very well."

"Your words had quite an impact on me," I tell her softly. "I didn't understand then, but now... I believe I know precisely what you meant."

She reaches out to grip my arm firmly where it rests on the table. "Then remember what you told me; you can't take the blame for the Darkspawn horde."

I shake my head in denial. "It's not the same. That was a Blight; there were Darkspawn everywhere then. You and Wesley were just caught up in it, just trying to survive and get away from them. Me, I led Carver into a bloody warren of Darkspawn, all for the sake of what? Wealth? Riches? Gold coins and trinkets?" I stare at her, my voice taking on a wild edge. "I got my little brother killed for that?"

She stares back, unwavering, uncompromising. "He knew the risks, Hawke, you all did. And having talked with him about it myself, I know he wanted to go with you. It was his choice."

I still can't let the guilt go, no matter how much sense her words make. It's still weighing me down, a crushing load of shadow resting heavily on my heart."I should have left him at home. At least then he would still be alive."

Her hold on my arm tightens to the point of pain, and I get the distinct feeling she'd like nothing better than to shake some sense into me. I half wish she would. "Perhaps," she replies, keeping her voice level. "And perhaps someone else would have died instead. Perhaps Merrill, or Varric, or anyone else you chose to take. Or you. Perhaps all of you. Would that have been any better? We can't know what might have happened if things had gone a different way, we can only speculate. And 'what if' is a question with enough possible answers to drive anyone mad." Aveline leans forward, speaking with complete certainty. "Ultimately, Hawke, Carver's decisions were his own, and you were right to let him make them. He was your younger brother, true, but he was also a grown man, a soldier, and he was certainly not a child. You showed him how much you valued him by taking him with you. He would have been very unhappy with you had you left him behind."

Andraste, she's right about that. I smile a little. It's getting easier to do so, now. There's less of a weight in my chest. "That's an understatement. He would have been absolutely livid with rage. Maker only knows what he would have done to get back at me."

Aveline squeezes my arm again, in a much more friendly way this time, before releasing it and leaning back. Her next question is spoken hesitantly, reluctantly. "How is Leandra?"

The weight drops firmly back into place. "Devastated."

Aveline merely nods resignedly. "To be expected. She will be alright, Hawke. You both will. It will take time, for you especially, to come to terms with this. I understand how you feel right now. But you will get through, and overcome, as I did."

I sit quietly for a moment, considering her words, and my burden of guilt slowly eases, lifting just a little. It's not gone, not completely, but it is easier to bear, now. And she's right. We will get through. We have before. I give her a grateful smile; small, but genuine. "You've really helped me, Aveline. Thank you." I rub my chin reflectively. "It is odd, though."

Aveline gives a little laugh, raising her eyebrows. "Well, thanks so much for that."

I drop my hand and look at her, puzzled, before I realise how I must have sounded. "Maker's breath, I didn't mean it that way! I just meant; Varric said much the same thing to me as you, as did Mother, eventually. Merrill said it several times." I smile again just thinking of her. "She was so earnest I almost managed to make myself believe her. But somehow, even though I knew they were right, it took hearing the same words from you before I could really accept them."

"You mean, because I went through the same thing?" she asks, her face impassive once again.

I tilt my head in a thoughtful manner. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it was hearing it spoken in a tone of such absolute authority."

She breaks into a pleasant smile and laughs again, a little louder. I grin at her, still feeling a little amazed that I'm able to. She looks at me curiously once her laughter dies down, an odd expression on her face. "You know, I am a little surprised you came to me about this. I understand you must have felt a connection to this with what happened to Wesley, but..." She trails off, leaving her question unspoken. I'm not quite sure what she's asking. Why would she think I wouldn't come to her for advice?

"It's not just because of Wesley," I tell her, trying my best to answer without knowing the question. "You're also my friend. I value your opinion, and your counsel. I imagine this is what it's like to have an older sister I can turn to when I need someone with a more experienced perspective, who cares about me. Someone I can trust."

She smiles at me again, looking pleased, and perhaps a bit relieved, as well. "It's good to hear you say that. Although I will let that 'older' comment go for now." I rub my neck sheepishly. _Well, you are older than me_, I can't help but think, though I don't dare point it out at the moment, since it seemed to bother her. I may file it away for future reference in case any opportunities for light teasing present themselves, however. It's quite hard to find anything that actually makes Aveline tick. All in good natured fun, of course.

"I did wonder if you wanted to be rid of me." Aveline says suddenly, and I look at her sharply. Whatever would make her think that? She notices my confused gaze, and shrugs a little, glancing down. "You have been keeping yourself rather distant since I became a guard, and even more so now that I've been made Captain."

I open my mouth automatically to deny it, and then slowly let it close, reflecting. Maybe I have been, at that. "I... you're right. I hadn't realised. I'm sorry." I think for a moment, trying to sort out an explanation for my actions in my own head before I can give one to her. I truly hadn't meant to behave that way. Still, I should have realised. "It's just... I've always been, shall we say, cautious around law enforcement figures, being what I am." My gaze flicks automatically over to the door, cautiously making certain that it's firmly closed. "An illegal mage."

Her face is calm, but there's a flash of hurt in her eyes at my words. "Wesley was the Templar, not me. You're the closest thing to family I have, Hawke. I wouldn't turn you in. "

"I know that," I assure her quickly. "But I didn't want to... I don't know, jeopardise your position, I suppose. Associating with apostates, abominations, blood mages and pirates does put you in rather an uncomfortable position, doesn't it? By all rights, you should be locking us all up, or worse. I don't want you to be conflicted between your duty to upholding Kirkwall law, and loyalty to your friends. And sometimes..." I pause, wondering if I should bring it up. I know how perceptive she is, and I doubt she'll let it go if I do. Well, perhaps she shouldn't. After all, having come this far, why not go further and clear the air completely? I throw caution to the wind and continue. "Sometimes what you don't know won't get either of us in trouble."

She frowns, eyes sharp as she looks at me, and I can almost see her connecting the threads. "You are referring to that... business... with those bodies that were found in Lowtown," she says, and I nod slowly, apprehensively.

She regards me silently for a moment, taking time to weigh her words before she speaks. "Hawke, as I've said, I consider you family. And I take care of my family. That is what matters to me above all else. The same is true of our little rag-tag group. You bring out the best in all of us, and that's what I see in them now, even if I'm not necessarily comfortable with all of their actions and choices. Particularly those of... a certain shameless member of your misfit collection." I barely manage to smother a chuckle, turning it into a cough as I hear the unspoken name in the disapproval and grudging affection that tinges her voice.

Aveline ignores my efforts with quiet dignity and continues. "As for the incident in Lowtown; none of those men had family, at least none who cared overmuch about their absence, nor did they have anything good to say of them. The case is cold; as far as anyone is concerned it was simply a shady back alley deal gone wrong. Let me be blunt. You've said you trust me. I am not interested in apportioning blame; I am certain that those men deserved the punishment they were given, even if it was vigilante justice. Now that we've spoken openly I understand why you didn't come to me first, and why you didn't confide in me afterwards. I suppose the way I approached you may have been misconstrued, but I assure you, my interest now is simply the concern of a friend; for you and for Merrill. Was I right that she was involved?"

I hesitate, considering how much to give her, and then decide to tell her everything. She's right, after all, and I know she does truly care for Merrill's wellbeing. I should have come to her before. I would have, if we'd had this talk earlier. I take a breath. The memory is always fresh in my mind, as though it happened yesterday. It was such a close thing. Knowing that makes the telling even harder.

"She was walking home from the market, alone. A group of men attacked her. They... They beat her, and they were going to rape her." My hands clench into fists and I tremble with rage at the memory. "They were going to _rape_ her, Aveline! All of them. They would have killed her. I heard her scream, and ran to find her, I was almost too late; they had her on the ground, had her clothes ripped off and... But I got there, I stopped them. The first two bodies you found, one was holding her down for his friend. I killed those two that night, and the others who were... waiting their turn... they ran off."

The fury in her eyes must mirror the vengeful wrath in mine, but she doesn't let it distract her. She presses me for more. "So theirs were the bodies that turned up the next night, then. Did you-"

"I killed them. I couldn't let them hurt anyone else. I hunted them down and killed them. It wasn't hard; they were all together in a pack." I meet her gaze pointedly. "They were following another woman." Aveline draws a deep, controlled breath, eyes hard, and lets it out slowly as I continue. "I drew their attention and lured them away from her, and well, you know the rest. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I'm not sorry for that. It was quick and clean, and better than they deserved," I finish unapologetically, fervently, then sit still and watch her, waiting for her reaction.

Aveline sits in silence for a while, apparently considering everything I've told her thoroughly before she gives me her judgement. "Well, I can't say what you did was lawful, Hawke, but I certainly won't tell you it was wrong," she says eventually.

I release a pent-up breath I hadn't realised I was holding, and then give her a sidelong look, reading the message in her carefully chosen words."You still don't think it was right, though."

"I can't afford to think like that," she says firmly, shaking her head. "But I may concede that it was... necessary. And you were looking out for Merrill. Of course I support that."

"Thank you," I say gratefully. Deep down I knew she'd react this way, but it's still good to hear it. And it was good to tell her about it, to resolve any lingering uncertainty I had over where I stand with her. Of course she'd want to help me and Merrill. I should have been more trusting, and less foolishly fearful. "And I promise if something like this ever happens again, I will come to you. It's just that when it comes to rapists..." I look away from her as I feel a sudden surge of anger, glaring fiercely at nothing for a moment before meeting her eyes meaningfully. "I don't tend to react... well."

She blinks, and gives me a measured look. I shift uncomfortably under her piercing gaze. The apostate in me still gets very twitchy under a law-keeper's scrutiny, it seems. "So I've seen. But I understand," she says after a pause, her voice soft. "I'm glad you confided in me, Hawke."

"I wish I'd had the presence of mind to do so earlier," I admit, rising from my chair to leave.

She stands as well, and walks over to the door with me. "Please don't hesitate to come to me again. I hope you won't have to, but you must admit, trouble finds you like Isabela finds companionship; frequently, easily, and at any time of day or night. If there's ever anything else you want to talk about-"

"You'll be here. I know." I clasp her arm warmly. "Thank you again, Aveline." She inclines her head and smiles before turning back to her desk, gazing at the waiting paperwork with a heavy sigh as I suppress an amused grin. Back to work, then. No rest for the decent.

I step out of her office, shutting the door behind me, and immediately have to press up against it as a file of guardsmen march out of the barracks to take up their places and relieve their fellows from night watch as the business of the Keep begins for another day. I wonder if the Viscount is in his office yet. I hesitate, wondering if I should stay. Perhaps I could try and speak to him today about buying back Mother's old estate. I catch a sight of myself briefly in the mirrored surface of a guard's chest plate and swiftly reconsider. Maker, I look terrible. Well, I haven't slept or changed my clothing since I returned to the surface. I'm hardly presentable. I'd be lucky to get an audience with Viscount's bathing room attendant, let alone Dumar himself. Maybe I'd give a better impression if I returned later, after a rest and a fresh outfit. And a bath. I'd be thrown unceremoniously into the street if I tried to see the Viscount like this, perhaps with a bucket of water over my head for good measure.

I start down the barracks corridor as soon as the guardsmen and women are gone. I walk slowly, reflecting back over everything Aveline and I talked about. I am glad I came here. Aveline was right about so many things, not just about Carver. Trouble does seem to follow me like a shadow. Thinking back on everything in this new and harsh light, I suddenly feel a deep chill of fear as I consider how much worse the expedition could have gone; in fact, it's nothing short of incredible that any of us made it out alive. It seems like such a stupid risk to have taken in the cold light of day. I can't believe I put Merrill in so much danger; what if something had happened to her? It so easily could have been her as well as Carver; Aveline was right about that, too. I wanted to protect Merrill from Templars, so I pulled her into a dark, dank pit filled with Darkspawn and demons. Was I really being protective, or just selfish, wanting to keep Merrill close? I accept now that what happened to Carver wasn't my fault, but it can't be denied that danger seems to stalk me at every turn, seeking me out relentlessly. I am dangerous to be around. I won't lose Merrill, too_. She'd be better off keeping far away from me_. I shake my head at myself in disgust. _That's a foolish thought. You know you won't be able to stay away from her, you're not strong enough._ I move into the anteroom, weaving past the first wave of petitioners making their noisy way into the Keep, and slip through the great entrance doors. I nod again as Donnic passes me, just coming off duty, and then I head for the Lowtown stairway, lost in thoughts of Merrill, and how to keep her safe. Keeping her out of harm's way is more important to me than anything, even if it means trying not to involve her so much in the hazardous tangle of my life. I certainly don't want to make her feel that I don't want to see her anymore, like I carelessly did to Aveline, but... perhaps no more foolishly risky adventures for a while. There's not really any need for them at the moment, anyway.

I yawn, suddenly feeling the full weight of my physical, emotional and mental exhaustion and rub wearily at my eyes as I start the long descent into Lowtown. It's getting hard to think clearly; I really need sleep more than anything else right now. I'll approach the Viscount about the Amell estate once I've rested, and get Mother out of Gamlen's hovel and into the sort of life she deserves. It won't make up for what we've lost. Nothing ever could. But it will make life a little easier to bear.


	9. Chapter 9

_And here we are, at the beginning of Act 2. Three years is a long time for two people to have feelings for one another and do absolutely nothing about it, and so I've tried to give both Merrill and Hawke reasons for their hesitancy (other than just their shyness and insecurity when it comes to their feelings about each other). Don't know how successful or believable it is, but keep in mind that people can be stupid, scared and stubbornly blind about stuff like this. But I'm sure we all know that. This chapter leads into Merrill's Act 2 companion quest, which I wanted to post as well, but I haven't even nearly finished it yet, unfortunately. I got a bit stuck on it, but it's coming along a little better now, I think. I wanted to give you something in the meantime, at least; however this will mean that there isn't really a definitive sort of ending to this chapter, if I'm using that word right. Sorry about that. I'll try and finish the next part ASAP. :D_

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><p>xxx H xxx<p>

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><p>"I've no idea why he's asking for you, and by name, no less. But he is determined to put his request before you and no other, Serah Hawke. Therefore, I must leave the satisfaction of the Arishok's demands in your hands," Marlowe Dumar declares, regarding me with a grave countenance. I sigh inwardly at this sudden new headache I've acquired, but I'm careful to keep it out of my face as the Viscount of Kirkwall steps out from behind his cluttered desk, moving to stand in front of me as he solemnly continues; "Speak to the Arishok. Give him what he needs to keep the peace. Can you do that for Kirkwall, Serah Hawke?"<p>

I consider this rather odd request for a moment, noting the deep worry lines etched into his forehead, and the dark circles under his eyes. Poor old fellow. I certainly don't envy him his position. And I suppose it wouldn't hurt to graciously offer him my help, since he's been forced to stoop so low as to act as a messenger boy between me, an upstart refugee-turned-noble, and the Arishok, heathen leader of the heretical giants still squatting persistently in the Lowtown docks. Although frankly I would have thought he'd consider it a nice change from trying to deal with the squabbles of the Knight Commander and First Enchanter. I incline my head respectfully, acceding to his request. "I am always willing to assist, your Excellency."

"Well, that is an attitude this city has lacked for a long time," Dumar says, his thin lips turning up slightly in a semblance of a smile. "Appease the Arishok. Take his demand, and let him return to dormancy. As awkward as this has been, it's better than the alternative. I would prefer to keep the city intact." He nods at me in curt dismissal before rubbing tiredly at his forehead as I take the hint and turn to leave. "It's heading for a fall, I know it is," I hear him mutter quietly to himself as he settles back at his desk, apparently believing me to be out of earshot. "Stepping down is looking more and more appealing." Now I know he can't have meant for me to hear _that_.

Seneschal Bran brushes busily past me as I step out of the Viscount's office, offering me a perfunctory nod as he slips back through the door with a fresh bundle of vitally important documents to harass the already beleaguered old man with. I let the door close behind him and quicken my steps, suddenly anxious to get out of the dark, depressing stuffiness of the Keep. I walk briskly through the petitioners' hall and push through the doors, sighing with profound relief as I leave the oppressively gloomy seat of Kirkwall authority behind and step back into the sunlight and the clean, fresh air of Hightown.

On the surface, the city has hardly changed at all over the years. Hightown is still rich, colourful and elegant, basking in the bright light of the Maker; Lowtown is still a miserable rat-warren reeking of poverty and desperation. And as for Darktown, well, nothing ever changes down there apart from whichever street gang currently rules from the shadows of Kirkwall's nefarious under-city. The only real difference is an increase in the simmering undercurrent of tension in the city, fuelled at least in part by the conflict between the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander. According to Anders, this is causing growing unrest both within the alliance of free mages he is mysteriously involved with, and amongst the Circle mages. But the biggest cause is undeniably the presence of the Qunari. Understandable, since they generally come as conquerors. Even more so because their reasons for remaining here are difficult to understand, if all they're waiting for is a ship home. Surely one would have come by now? I don't know much about sailing, but I don't see why it would take three years to sail from Par Vollen to Kirkwall. Unless they keep getting lost, but are too proud to ask for directions. Either that; or anyone they approach flees screaming hysterically in the opposite direction. Given the reputation of the Qunari as brutal and merciless invaders, that is definitely a possibility. If I were the Viscount, I'd seriously consider just giving them a damn ship already, if that's really all they want.

The sun is very high overhead now; it must be drawing close to midday. I suppose I'd better get moving on the Viscount's task. Considering how important Dumar kept insisting it is, I probably shouldn't waste any time. I'd really rather not face the Arishok without company, though, and I know just who I'm going to ask first.

I start out immediately through the streets of Hightown, my steps automatically tracing the familiar path down the steps into Lowtown, heading for the alienage, and Merrill's tiny ramshackle house. It's been a while since I've seen her, come to think of it. I try to go to her house as often as I can to see her and also to make certain she's taking care of herself, and I know Varric and Isabela do the same, sometimes. She's grown more and more distracted and withdrawn, even from us; working busily on something with an almost single-minded dedication, but she won't tell any of us what she's doing. Whatever it is, it's taken up a lot of her time, of late. Sometimes she even opts to stay at home rather than join us for a night at the Hanged Man, or a day trip to the Wounded Coast. I suppose it must have something to do with her mysterious plan to help her people, but it's getting a little worrying, to be frank.

Unfortunately, I haven't had the time to get down to the alienage nearly as much as I would like; something always seems to come up and get in my way. Maker, I think it's been more than a week now! How could I leave it so long? I would have gone sooner, and far more frequently, only Mother keeps finding little excuses to throw parties for our noble neighbours, or to grace their own grand soirees with her presence, catching up on her old acquaintances and involving me either by 'requesting' my help to plan these elaborately dull affairs at our estate, or dragging me along when she attends theirs. I find it all incredibly tedious, but whenever I try to protest she gives me a stern look and takes me to task as though I were still no more than a recalcitrant child. What can I do? She is firmly in her element back amongst the Kirkwall elite, but I feel I am completely out of place. Still, I owe it to her to make her happy. Most of my time and effort since Carver died has gone into taking care of her; getting back her old childhood home, (or my 'ancestral home', as she refers to it) and making a name for myself among these fancy Hightown fops. All so I can give her the kind of life that, truth be told, she's always been most comfortable with. As a result, and to my shame and regret, I often haven't had much time for the people hold as dear to me as family. Or dearer still, in one special case. Well. I think it's high time I remedy that.

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><p>Even after so much time, walking the dirty Lowtown streets makes me feel far more comfortable than I ever am in Hightown. I suppose I'm drawn in by the familiar scents and sounds. The salt spray in the cool sea breeze coming straight from the docks, tinged with the smell of oakum, and tar, and old, dead fish. The occasional well-feigned pants and moans that issue from the darkest corners of back alleyways, the unmistakeable sound of freelance whores plying their trade, even in the middle of the day. Somehow even the foul smell of the garbage and refuse littering the gutters contributes to the character of this dingy, wild, ungovernable place. It seems I actually miss it here, even the revolting smells and horrible noises. I didn't see that coming, that's for damn sure.<p>

A few of the elves stop in the middle of their activities as I step through the gates into the high-walled alienage, some openly staring at the human suddenly in their midst, others offering me a gracious nod as I pass them, and a few even calling out a polite word of greeting. Most of them are used to seeing me here, even if they've never had reason or inclination to speak to me. I return their varying degrees of welcome with a cordial nod or a friendly smile as I pass them, briskly crossing the well-swept centre square to the small house nestled in the opposite corner. I tap gently at the rough wood of Merrill's door and wait, and then knock again a little louder after my first attempt elicits no response from within.

At last the door suddenly opens a crack, and a pair of bright emerald eyes peep out cautiously at me from the shadowy interior. They widen slightly in apparent surprise, and then Merrill flings open the door and steps hurriedly out into the alienage square, pulling the door tightly shut behind her.

"Hawke! Hello!"

I suppress a frown as I take note of her somewhat shifty behaviour. She actually looked surprised to see me just now. Have I done something to upset her? I know it's been a couple of days since I've been to see her, but it isn't the first time I've been kept away, and she's never hesitated to welcome me in before, seating me at her little table and fussing over me with an endearingly flustered air. But now she won't even let me in. I feel a stab of shame; I should have made more of an effort to come here more often.

Merrill's eyes light up as she gazes at me, beaming, and my worries ease a little. She certainly doesn't _look_ angry with me. "Oh, it's so good to see you! I missed you, lethallan, I'm glad you've come!" she says happily, starting forward and hugging me excitedly.

I smile in relief and return her hug fiercely. "I've missed you too, Merrill. I'm sorry, it's been a little while since my last visit here, hasn't it?"

She nods quickly as she lets go, stepping back to look up at me, her face suddenly serious. "Yes, it's been almost exactly nine days and four hours since you last came to see me, and you didn't stay for very long, because a runner came looking for you to tell you your mother needed you for a... a 'fitting session'."

"Nine days? Really?" I rub the back of my neck, feeling even more ashamed. "I'm sorry, Merrill. I shouldn't let Mother boss me around so much. I'd have come back sooner, but..."

She tilts her head, giving me a reassuring smile. "It's alright, Hawke, I know you've been very busy, after all. So have I."

"Yes, I've noticed," I say, regarding her thoughtfully. "We have that in common of late, it seems. Want to tell me what you've been up to?"

She gives a little shrug, and ducks her head, avoiding my eyes. Well, that's not at all suspicious. "Oh, just... just trying to learn more about Dalish history, you know, looking for old books, and scrolls, and, um, artefacts."

Is that all? Why be so secretive about it, then? "That sounds fascinating. Anything I can help with?"

"Thank you, Hawke, but it's nothing important, really," she says, shaking her head a little. "At least, nothing you'd be interested in, I'm sure."

I open my mouth to protest, feeling my concern grow at her evasiveness, but she continues before I can speak:

"Let's go and sit under the vhenadahl for a bit, shall we?" She grabs my hand and gestures to the giant tree behind me, talking fast. Well, faster than usual. "I feel like being outside. It's such a lovely day!"

Her face is a little flushed as she looks up at me, and her eyes dart about nervously, not quite meeting my gaze. Why do I get the feeling she's trying to change the subject? Doesn't she trust me? Well... if it's something to do with her people, I suppose I can understand her decision not to share it with a human. In all my dealings with the Dalish so far, I've come to understand that, though some like Marethari are welcoming to humans, the rest range from the barely tolerant to the openly hostile. It's understandable, given our history, but it makes me think; if Merrill does intend to rejoin her clan someday, I doubt her clan will approve of her maintaining a friendship with a human, let alone anything... more. But now I'm sure I'm reading too much into it. She probably just wants to do it on her own, as a matter of honour, or maybe pride. Whatever it is she's doing.

Merrill tugs on my hand, leading me over to the giant old tree in the middle of the square and seating herself on the bare ground beneath its spreading branches, wriggling a little until she finds a comfortable spot. A pair of elves perched on a crate nearby glance at her briefly, and then stand, moving out from under the shade of the tree, walking hastily away from us. I glare at their retreating backs, suddenly full of righteous indignation on Merrill's behalf. The elves here are still as unwelcoming towards her as ever, I see. Merrill watches them go, a faint look of sorrow on her face, but then she blinks, her expression clearing, and looks at me curiously as I sit beside her. "What did that messenger boy mean by 'fitting session', anyway? When your mother sent him to bring you home?"

I sigh heavily, leaning back against a crate at the base of the tree. "Mother engaged the services of that Hightown tailor, Jean Luc, so she could 'supplement my wardrobe with some less practical attire.' I had to spend the rest of the morning and the whole afternoon suffering a dressmaker with very cold hands prodding and poking at me with a measuring cord, and some rather sharp pins."

"Well, that doesn't sound very pleasant," Merrill says sympathetically, frowning up at me.

"It really wasn't," I agree, grimacing slightly at the memory. "At least, I didn't think so. It seems the nobles in Kirkwall have nothing better to do than throw a ball every other night, and a party on the alternating evenings. And Mother simply has to attend every damn one, and bring me with her to, well, present me, I suppose. She's stepped back into her old life a little too eagerly for my liking. I suspect she's trying to marry me off to some noble lordling." I frown in disgust. "The other day she made some comment about Seneschal Bran having a son about my age. It seems she's determined to give me an 'advantageous match'."

"Oh..." She bites her lip, looking down for a moment, twisting her hands together in her lap before lifting her head to look at me with an overly bright smile that sits oddly on her rosy lips. "Is that why you're dressed like that, then? Are you going to a party now?"

I blink in startled confusion and look down at myself, suddenly realising that I'm still in the clothes Mother insisted I wear to my meeting with the Viscount; a fine white silk shirt with golden trim, well-shined black leather boots over dark grey breeches, and a rich crimson cloak thrown about my shoulders, clasped with a heavy golden cloak-pin shaped like the stylised twin eagles of the Amell ancestral crest. Maker only knows where Mother found that. No wonder I attracted so many stares as I made my way here, I must look ridiculously out of place. I'm certainly aware of it now, as I notice Merrill examining me with an odd look in her eyes. I can hardly blame her; I'm sure I look as silly as I feel."No, there aren't any dull gatherings of stuffy self-entitled nobles tonight, thank the Maker! Actually, I had to see the Viscount."

"Oh!" she exclaims, and her smile becomes much more natural, her face resuming its usual cheerful expression. "So, you won't be getting married to any noble lords any time soon, then?"

I shake my head in firm denial, feeling my features twist in horror at the thought. "Not if I can bloody help it! That seems to be one of Mother's slightly delusional dreams for me, unfortunately for her, but..." I trail off, gazing at her sweet face for a few moments, until I realise she is looking back at me with a bewildered expression. Maker, what must I look like, openly staring at her like that? I give myself a mental shake and continue hurriedly, feeling foolish. "It certainly isn't what I want. No, the Viscount has... requested... my help. He's concerned about the growing influence of the Qunari, and the tension they are causing in the city."

"Yes, I've heard a lot of people talking about them lately," she says, frowning seriously. "Everyone seems to be a little scared of them, don't they? It's understandable, I suppose, since they're so big, and bulky, and all. But they're a lot taller than I am, and I don't think they're all that scary, not really, anyway. What did the Viscount want?"

"He said the Arishok demanded to speak to me. Apparently he asked for me by name, which is a little unnerving, since he never asked for it when we spoke three years ago, and I never gave it to him." I shrug, at a loss to explain it to myself, much less to her. I smile wryly. "I guess I must have sparked his interest."

Merrill nods in agreement. "Well, you do tend to do that," she says seriously, though there's a hint of a smile in her voice. "I'll bet that's it, then. Maybe he just likes you more than the Viscount. He probably thinks talking to you might be a bit more fascinating."

"You may have something there; I can be endlessly fascinating, if I so choose," I grin. "Although, perhaps 'like' is a strong word. It's probably more accurate to say that he has slightly less contempt for me than anyone else he's met here." She gives a quiet little chuckle at that, which turns abruptly into a tired yawn that she tries unsuccessfully to stifle. I study her face for a moment, suddenly noticing the dark circles under her eyes. There's a faint pallor to her skin, now that I look more closely. I frown in concern. "Are you alright, Merrill? You look a little pale. Have you been eating enough?"

"Oh, yes, Hawke, don't worry, Varric has been getting a boy to deliver food right to my house, just to make sure I don't fade away, as he puts it. He said you gave him money for it, when I thanked him, so I suppose I should thank you too, shouldn't I?" She scratches at her head a little nervously as she babbles, and my eyes fall on a fresh bandage tied suspiciously around her palm. She seems to notice the direction of my gaze, and drops her hand hastily.

"So do you know what the Arishok wants, exactly?" she says, changing the subject again.

I feel my frown deepen a little, but decide not to press her about it. At least, not right now. "I've no idea. The Viscount couldn't give me anything useful, either. He just urged me to find out."

"So you just have to go talk to him? Well, that doesn't sound too hard to do, unless of course what the Arishok wants is for you to build him a ship, or something," Merrill says, cocking her head to the side thoughtfully. "Isabela could probably help with that, although she'd probably have built one for herself by now if she could. But anyway, I suppose being in the Viscount's good books wouldn't hurt, would it?"

I nod. "That was my thought. It could be highly useful if the Templars start to take an interest in me, which is becoming all the more likely since Mother insists on trying to involve me in bloody 'noble' society. Makes it a lot harder to go unnoticed with someone standing behind you, waving their arms and yelling 'Hey everyone, look over here!'" She giggles, and I smile; both at the delightful sound of her voice and at the amusing image my words create in my head. I glance at the sun to judge the time, and then stand, absently brushing a few specks of dirt from my clothing. I'd better get this job over and done with, as much as I'd like to linger here instead. But sadly, duty calls. Back to the reason I came, then. "I should start heading to the docks now. Do you want to come with me?"

Her face breaks into a wide smile, and she nods her head enthusiastically. "Yes, of course I do! Just let me get my staff." She jumps to her feet eagerly, bounding out from under the shade of the tree and slipping back inside her house for a moment, half closing the door behind her. I follow her over to her door, peering curiously through the opening after her as she disappears into her bedroom, but I can't see any signs of whatever has been keeping her so busy. I shouldn't pry, but, well, I'm a little concerned, frankly. I examine what I can see of the small front room carefully, but am none the wiser by the time she returns, staff grasped tightly in her hand.

"I'm ready, Hawke!" Merrill declares brightly, closing her door firmly behind her. "Are we bringing anyone else? What about Isabela? And Varric, too? They'd love to come along, I'm sure!"

"Well, I think Varric will want to, at least, although I'm not sure Isabela will be all that keen. No harm in asking her, though." I pause for a moment, looking down thoughtfully at my ostentatious outfit. "Actually, if you can go and ask them, I might look around in the market and see if I can't find something a little more fitting to wear for a trip to the docks."

"Oh, no, you don't have to do that, Hawke," she protests, her eyes wide with sincerity. "You look very nice, you really do! Very... noble."

"Therein lies the source of my discomfort," I say, though my mouth curls in a half smile at her earnest compliment. "But thank you. It's not just that, though. This fancy get-up is appropriate for making a good impression on the ruler of Kirkwall, but I'm not sure it will have quite the same effect on the Arishok. Probably the opposite, in fact. I won't be long. You can find your way to the Hanged Man on your own, right? That way you can have them both ready by the time I get there."

She considers briefly, and then nods with determination. "Yes, I can do that. After three years, I really should be able to at least manage that without getting lost, shouldn't I?"

"You can do it," I reassure her affectionately. "I have complete confidence in you. Now remember, what's your story if a Templar asks what the big staff is for?"

She clutches both hands around her staff and leans heavily on it, adopting a piteous expression as she looks up at me, wide-eyed. "'It's only my walking stick, Messere Templar, ser. I stepped in a leg-hold trap in the forest when I was small, and now I'll never be able to walk properly without it,'" she says in a plaintive tone, demonstrating a couple of hobbling steps, throwing in a few sniffling, pained whimpers for good measure. She's certainly gotten a lot better at deception and artifice under the careful tutelage of Varric, Isabela and myself. Not sure if that's really such a good thing, but unfortunately, sometimes it has proved to be necessary.

"Very good!" I laugh appreciatively at her little performance. "Enough to fool the most experienced mage-hunter."

She straightens and beams up at me at the compliment. "I'm glad you think so. I've been practising."

"It shows," I assure her as we walk across to the stairs up to the street. "Let's get going, then. You go ahead and ask Isabela and Varric if they want to come with us, and I'll meet you at the Hanged Man before you know I've gone anywhere."

* * *

><p>xxx M xxx<p>

* * *

><p>"I kind of like the Qunari," Varric says, a thoughtful expression on his face as he looks at the grumpy-looking guard standing in front of the compound gates, who glowers very crossly at us as we approach him. "You always know what they want: absolutely nothing. Well, except for whatever they want from you, Hawke. Hope the Arishok is in a good mood today."<p>

Hawke makes a small noise of agreement, pulling at the hem of her tunic, adjusting it absently. I could swear she looks a little nervous, but that can't be true, I must be seeing things, surely. Hawke never looks nervous. Although I suppose she has a right to be, since the Arishok wants to talk to her. He's the biggest, grumpiest Qunari of the lot, after all. "Best not to keep him waiting, in any case," she says firmly. "Let's go and find out what he wants from me."

She straightens her shoulders resolutely, flashes us a confident smile, and turns towards the compound, striding quickly. She doesn't look the least bit uneasy any more. That's good; I won't be nervous either, then, although to be honest, I do find the Qunari just a little intimidating, despite what I said to Hawke, before. I am glad Varric and Isabela wanted to come with us, even though I'm not sure Isabela really listened to what I said we were going to do; I think she was too busy being surprised that I didn't get lost on my way to the Hanged Man. Hawke arrived not long after I did, with a simple dark blue tunic, and plain tan breeches she found in a clothes shop just down the street from the alienage. Isabela said she could get changed in her rooms, and offered to go with her, to help her undress, she said, but Hawke just laughed and told her she'd be fine. I really sort of wish she hadn't decided to get changed, though. Hawke looks nice no matter what she's wearing, of course, but I did like the way she looked in her fine noble clothes; striking and valiant, like a hero from one of Varric's stories, only not make-believe. I suppose I am glad that she doesn't really feel comfortable dressed like that, in a way; it means she hasn't changed despite living in Hightown with the fancy noble lords and ladies, and all.

Isabela pauses suddenly in front of me as Hawke reaches the compound steps. "Uh... I think I'll just wait out here."

I step up beside her, looking up at her in concern as Hawke stops and turns back to look at her too, frowning slightly. "You ran off the last time I had to come here as well, as I recall," she says slowly. "What's the problem, Isabela?"

"Nothing, really. You go ahead. I just remembered... something."

Hawke lifts an eyebrow. "Convincing."

Isabela shrugs, looking away from Hawke. "Look, maybe they just make me a little uncomfortable, alright?" she says, fiddling with one of her round earrings. I've never seen her do that before, she's behaving very oddly. "I won't go anywhere. Come find me when you're done talking to the big goat-horns."

Hawke studies her closely for a moment, then nods slowly. "Alright, if that's what you want."

I suppose the Qunari make Isabela a little nervous. I don't blame her, really; they are a bit big and just a little scary-looking, although I suppose I really shouldn't judge them by appearances alone. I understand if she doesn't want to go in there, though. Maybe I should stay with her; it isn't really as though Hawke will need me to help talk to the Arishok, anyway. I'd probably just say something stupid and make him cross. Well, even crosser than normal, at least. And Varric won't let anything happen to Hawke if the talk goes badly, not that I think it will, of course, or I wouldn't stay outside while Hawke went in without me. But I don't like to see Isabela looking so uneasy; it seems wrong, somehow. I reach up to pat her shoulder reassuringly. "I'll stay with you if you like, Isabela."

She smiles, and ruffles my hair. "Thanks, kitten."

Hawke's frown deepens, a little, but she doesn't argue. "Alright, then. See you in a few minutes, assuming all goes well." She sighs, and motions for Varric to follow her. "We'd better hurry up and go inside, Varric."

"Right behind you, Hawke." He falls in step at her back, and they walk together up the steps to speak to the Qunari guard at the compound entrance for a moment before they disappear through the gates and out of sight.

Isabela crosses the street and lounges casually against the wall opposite the compound gates, bracing one booted foot against the wall as she tilts her head up to gaze at the clear blue sky, arms crossed. I go and stand beside her, leaning my back against the warm stone to wait for Hawke to come out of the compound. I watch the stern Qunari soldier guarding the entrance for a moment. A thought occurs to me suddenly, and I turn to look up at Isabela.

"How do you suppose the Qunari scratch their heads with those horns in the way?"

She twists her head to look down at me, a bemused expression on her face. "Why do you think I would know?"

"Because you know lots of things!" I tell her. Isn't it obvious? She knows so much about everything! "I wonder if they rub their heads against tree trunks like halla do."

Her lips twist in a smirk, and she gives a little chuckle, turning to look at the gate guard with a raised eyebrow. "I'd pay a sovereign to see that."

I study the stone-faced Qunari soldier in front of the compound gates closely. "No wonder they seem so cranky all the time," I muse. "You know Isabela, I understand you not wanting to go into the Qunari compound. They are a little intimidating, aren't they? They're so big and grim!" I tilt my head to one side, regarding the big Qunari thoughtfully. "I've never seen a Qunari laugh or smile at all, not even a little bit. Do you think they can? What do you suppose would happen if I tickled one of them?"

"Best not to find out, kitten," Isabela says, a note of dry amusement in her voice. She suddenly lets out a heartfelt sigh. What was that for? Is she alright? I hope it wasn't something I said, although I'm not sure how anything we just talked about could have upset her, really. I pull my gaze away from the grumpy Qunari guard and look up at her worriedly. She is staring down towards the docks, looking at the boats in the harbour with a wistful expression. Oh. Poor Isabela. It must be very hard to be a pirate, and a captain at that, without a ship. It would be like... like being a griffon without feathers, or Varric without Bianca. Or Aveline without any criminals to hit.

"You really miss it, don't you?" I ask her quietly. "Sailing, I mean."

She nods, her eyes still on the harbour, and the expanse of sea beyond. "I think sometimes I'd even give up sex and liquor if only I could get my hands on the helm of a ship again. Well, maybe not sex. Or liquor. Anyway, my point is, yes, I do miss sailing, kitten. Very much. It's what I live for." I can hear a note of longing in her voice, which is more subdued than usual, as well. She sounds very sad, all of a sudden.

"I'm sure you'll have another ship someday, Isabela. Maybe Hawke can help you get one," I suggest, trying to make her feel better.

She smiles, and looks down at me. "Maybe she could, at that. Thanks, kitten," she says, slinging an arm across my shoulders and giving me a little hug. She looks back at the ships for a moment, then gives herself a slight shake. "Of course, it's not always fun and games on the sea, though," she says, sounding a lot louder and brighter, much more like her normal self. "There are storms and hostile pirates. And it's trying being cooped up with men who haven't seen a woman in months."

What does she mean? They'd see her, wouldn't they? If they were all on the same ship together? "You're a woman."

"Exactly," she says, nodding. Exactly what? What does she mean? I listen carefully as she continues, trying to understand. "And I don't usually let them touch me, so they get... frustrated." She looks at me and quirks an eyebrow. "I insist all of them get... alone time. Helps with the crankiness."

I frown in confusion; I can't see how that makes any sense at all. "But they're already lonely! Why would you insist that they be alone some more?"

She sighs deeply. "Merrill."

_Oh, what have I said now?_ "What? Did I miss something?"

"Go think about it, later," she says, looking at me with a very discouraging mixture of exasperation and amusement. "Maybe it'll come to you."

I look at her, narrowing my eyes a little. If she won't tell me, then that must mean... "It was something dirty, wasn't? Couldn't you just explain it to me? Please?"

"Maybe when you're older."

I very nearly stamp my foot in frustration at hearing those irritating words again. "I do wish everyone would stop saying that. I am not a child any longer. I came of age years ago when I earned the privilege of wearing the vallaslin. It is written on my face for all to see!" I run a fingertip along my cheek where the marks of adulthood show clearly on my skin. "The Keeper would not have applied the blood writing if she did not think I was ready for adult responsibilities and knowledge. And besides, how will I learn about such things if no one answers my questions?"

For a moment, Isabela looks quite surprised at my outburst, but then she suddenly cocks her head to one side, tapping her lower lip thoughtfully with a finger. "Hm. You have me there." She meets my gaze with a challenging sort of look in her amber eyes, and nods decisively. "Alright, kitten, from now on, if you have any questions regarding dirty things, I'll do my best to satisfy your curiosity. But be careful what you wish for."

Well... that's good, then. I think. What should I ask her, then? I can't really think of anything I want to ask about, except... well...

Before, when were sitting together under the vhenadahl; when I was talking to Hawke about the nobles, and her mother wanting her to... to marry... I thought I saw a... a look in her eyes, just for a moment, when she gazed at me. What did it mean? Unless I just imagined it. But if I didn't... if anyone would know what to do about it, it's Isabela, surely... but...

I shouldn't ask about that. I shouldn't even think about it anymore. I tried, for a long time, I tried not to think of Hawke so much, especially after she moved her mother to Hightown, and became so involved with all the lords and nobles. I tried to think instead of how when I fix the eluvian, I would take it back to the clan, and they would see that I was right. They would see how much of our past we can reclaim because of it, and they would accept me back. But then I would have responsibilities to fulfil, to my clan, and to all the Elvhen. I'd resume my position as First to Marethari, and then one day become the Keeper of the Sabrae clan. And there could be no place for a human in this future I envision; the clan, indeed, all of the People would not allow it. When I thought of that, I could console myself with the reasoning that it could never have been, in any case.

But then... the way Hawke looked at me before, when she said everything she'd been doing was just for her mother, and that she didn't really want any of it herself, especially marrying some noble lord, something in her eyes made me think that maybe... if there was just a chance that she might... that she could ever consider... could I give up the possibility of ever returning to my clan on so frail and slight a hope?

Could I?

Yes. If there's even the smallest chance... Hawke is so wonderful, and I'm probably just fooling myself, but if there's a chance, then maybe Isabela can help. She's so worldly, and she knows a lot about... about this sort of thing, doesn't she? I bite my lip nervously, then summon my courage and look up at her. "Isabela, when you want to... to be with someone... what do you do?"

She glances at me with a look of bemusement. "'Be with someone'? You may have to be a little more specific, kitten."

I scratch at my head uncertainly. Am I not saying it right? Or is she just teasing me? Oh, I wish she wouldn't, not just now. This is hard enough for me as it is."You know, to be together. With someone. Um... romantically?"

She chuckles as she looks at me, an odd glint in her golden eyes."Well, now, this is intriguing! Are we talking love or lust, here? Because I'm afraid I can only help you out with the latter. Why?" She leans down towards me, raising one of her eyebrows and grinning in quite a fiendish manner, the way she does when she's about to say something to make me blush. _Oh, dear_. "Do you have an itch that needs scratching, kitten? Shall I treat you to a night at the Blooming Rose?"

"No!" I blush fiercely, just as I knew I would. Just as she knew I would, too, I suppose; that's why she said it after all, isn't it? I try to keep going, to ask her again, a different way. Maybe that will help."W-well, I... what I mean is..." I can't think of how to ask, now. This isn't going at all how I thought. Her grin grows wider as she watches me stuttering hopelessly. Does she have to make it so difficult? "Oh, Isabela, haven't you ever been in love?"

Her smile instantly vanishes, replaced by a somewhat stunned expression. "In...! What?" She looks very taken aback all of a sudden, staring at me, apparently at a loss for words. "Maker's balls, what made you ask that, Merrill?" A look of sudden realisation flashes across her face, and she peers at me intently, her wicked grin swiftly reappearing. "Hold on, are you... Oh, my little kitten, have you been holding out on me? Are you in love with someone? A lovely young elf from the alienage, perhaps?"

I shake my head, suddenly feeling a little sad. "No. No one from the alienage talks to me, usually. I don't know if it's because they're sort of afraid of me, maybe, although I don't think any of them know about my..." I remember where we are, suddenly, and glance around before lowering my voice to a whisper. "My blood magic. Perhaps they're uncomfortable with having a Dalish around, or... maybe they just don't like me. Whatever the reason, most of them avoid me as much as they can."

"They don't know what they're missing, sweetness," Isabela says kindly. "But then, who is it? Surely it's not Anders, or Varric, is it? How about that handsome Chantry fellow who says he's a prince, what's his name, Sebastian? I can certainly understand that, kitten, even if he does seem a bit preachy and self-righteous for my liking. No? Hmm..."

Her frown grows deeper as I shake my head more persistently with each name she tries. Now she's gone through nearly every name but the right one. As embarrassed as I am by her questioning, it's more than a little disheartening that it truly hasn't occurred to her yet; unless it seems too foolish for her to even consider. My head droops a little, and Isabela glances at me, her brow furrowed in perplexity and concern.

"Don't tell me it's our broody, smouldering, snow-haired friend?"

_Who... Elgar'nan!_ I raise my head, gazing at her reproachfully. "You can't mean... Fenris? Oh, no, Isabela, it isn't him, of course not." She thought of him before Hawke? Is it really such a hopeless idea?

"Well, that's good to hear. I suppose I didn't really think it would be, the way he treats you. But then, who could it be? Come on, don't keep me in suspense! Who is it? Is it someone I know?"

I blush again, deeper, and don't say anything; I can't find my voice, suddenly. But my eyes flick to the Qunari compound of their own accord, searching out the place where I last saw Hawke as she slipped lithely through the compound gates after Varric.

Isabela follows my gaze with a puzzled expression, and then her eyes widen and she looks at me sharply, a slow, delighted smile creeping across her face. "Oh. Ohh! Our fearless leader, hmm?" I feel my face grow hotter, and her grin grows even wider, eyes glinting wickedly. "Oh, kitten, that's adorable! Since when?"

"I-I don't know." I stutter, faltering nervously under her penetrating gaze. "Since... always, it feels like."

"Really?" She shakes her head wryly. "Oh, I should be ashamed of myself; how did I not see this before? You've become too adept at hiding things, kitten!" She crosses her arms and stares down at me; I think she's trying to look stern, for some reason. "So let's hear it, then: what exactly is your excuse for not making a move on her before now?"

I blink at her stupidly. Me? Make a... a 'move' on Hawke? I'm not even sure I fully understand what that even means, let alone how to try. And anyway, if it means what I sort of think it does, then that's what I'm trying to ask her about! "I... well... I didn't think... we've both been so busy, and..." I raise my shoulders in a helpless shrug, gazing up at her plaintively."Oh, Isabela, I wouldn't even know what to do, anyway. And..." I lower my head. "Even if I did, Hawke wouldn't want me to... would she? I mean, I am an elf, after all."

A gentle arm curling around my shoulders makes me look up again. Isabela holds my eyes, looking as serious as I've ever seen her."Oh, kitten, you know Hawke. Do you really think that would matter to her?" She gives my shoulder a firm squeeze, one corner of her mouth turning up in a half-smile. "Besides, Merrill, I may have failed to notice your infatuation, to my everlasting shame and disgrace, but on this I'm completely certain: Hawke absolutely worships you. She isn't exactly obvious about it, true, but she can't fool me; I've seen the way she looks at you. She's just, well, too scared to do anything about it."

I frown, bristling on Hawke's behalf at the suggestion that she could be scared by something like this. She wouldn't be scared, surely! She's not like me. "But Hawke isn't afraid of anything, Isabela!" Then it suddenly hits me, the rest of what she said. Did she really just say...? No, I can't have heard that right, can I? There's a strange feeling in my chest, almost like a dull ache, only it doesn't hurt; just the opposite, in fact. "Wait... did you say she... worships me? Really? Why didn't you tell me so?"

She sighs, and rubs at her forehead uncomfortably with her free hand."I suppose if I were better at being a friend, I should have said something to you before, although it's probably none of my business. But to be honest I just never expected you to feel the same way about her. And really, I'm not exactly the best matchmaker in Thedas."

I feel... I don't know what to think. I'm a little in shock; I feel like I could fly. Or maybe fall over. I look up at her apprehensively. She is telling the truth, isn't she? It would be too cruel if she is only joking. "She really... You aren't... you aren't just teasing me, are you?"

She shakes her head, smiling. "Of course not, kitten. Not about something like this. She absolutely adores you. I'm delighted, to be honest. I was beginning to think Hawke would pine away forever and never get over her all-consuming obsession with you. Now she won't have to, if you two can both just stop being so bloody timid and shy with each other."

_She adores me_. The odd sensation in my chest is growing stronger; it feels like my heart is going to jump right out and soar off into the sky, singing just like a little songbird. Except... she said she didn't think I could think of Hawke this way. In Mythal's name, why not? I search her face anxiously. "But why wouldn't you think I would like her that way?" I press insistently. "Who would not?"

She laughs lightly. "You make a fine point. It's just, well, you never gave any indication you felt this way about her, although honestly I wasn't really looking for such a thing from you. And I suppose I didn't tell you what I saw in Hawke because I didn't actually think you'd welcome it, much less that you would want to act on it, since... well, I know how dedicated you are to your people. And correct me if I'm wrong, but from what little I know of the Dalish and their general opinions on humans - present company excluded, of course - I get the feeling your clan wouldn't exactly... approve. I think on some level Hawke is probably afraid that you'll feel that way, too."

My spirits plummet at her words, and my shoulders drop as I let my fall head miserably. "No. You're right. They wouldn't approve at all. But... but I don't care!" I say fiercely, although I'm not sure if I really sound very convincing. I do mean it, though. It's just still hard to think of how they feel about me now, and how much more contemptuous they would be towards me if they knew. It did hold me back before, of course it did, but... No, if they can change their minds about the eluvian, then they can change their minds about humans, too. And if they can't, well... it doesn't matter if I can't go back to the clan, as long as they just accept the knowledge from the mirror. I don't care what they would have to say about me and Hawke. I straighten my shoulders, and meet Isabela's eyes. "I don't care what they think of me. Not anymore, anyway."

She looks at me intently for a moment, and then sighs. "Merrill, I'm the last person you should be talking to about love, but for what it's worth, I don't think you should let what anyone else thinks of you hold you back from anything you feel is right. And frankly, I think you and Hawke would be just darling together. That's about all I can say regarding love, I'm afraid."

That can't be true, can it? She must know more than that! Who else can I ask for advice on something like this? The only other person I'd trust enough to ask is... is Hawke, and well, that would just be... well, embarrassing is not strong enough a word. Completely and utterly awkward and humiliating, perhaps? Oh, Isabela has to be able to help me, she just has to! "So... what do you think I should do? You can tell me, can't you?"

"Love isn't really my thing, kitten." She smiles wickedly all of a sudden. "I can try and give you a few pointers on the lust side of things though, if you like."

"Like those... those things in your dirty books?" I ask tentatively, and then blush furiously when she laughs at me.

"Learn to swim before plunging headfirst into the ocean, my sweet. Let's start small. Why don't you try flirting with her? Say something suggestive, make your voice low, and husky," she says, her voice suddenly sounding like the deep purring of a contented cat. "Like this. I would have thought Hawke wouldn't have been able to resist flirting with you at some point before now, at least a little."

I frown in concentration, trying to remember if I've ever heard Hawke's voice sound like that. I don't think so. Although if she ever did talk to me like that, I probably would have just assumed that she was just teasing me, the way she does everybody. Or that she had a sore throat. Elgar'nan, I probably would have asked her if she wanted to borrow a scarf to keep her neck warm, or something just as foolish. "If she did, I suppose I probably wouldn't have recognised it."

"Well, now you know what to listen for," Isabela says, her voice taking on a lecturing sort of tone, making her sound just like the Keeper did whenever she was teaching me an important spell or history lesson. I can't imagine the Keeper ever trying to teach me something like this, though. I suppress a sudden fit of giggling at that silly image as Isabela continues. "If she does, then you just do exactly the same thing back. Or you could do it first. Give her a compliment, and use the voice I showed you. She'll respond, I promise. Let her know that you want her, and then I bet you anything she'll start showing you how she feels. You just have to show her you're open to her. I'm quite certain she's open to you."

Let her know that I... I... _Creators!_ I look away shyly. "I... I don't know if I could do that."

"You'll never know until you try. And if you do things right with her, kitten... mmm... it will be so worth the effort, I promise you that."

That purring sound is back in her voice. Husky, I think she called it. I look at her suspiciously. "Have you... have you and Hawke ever... you know..."

She laughs, shaking her head. "Not for lack of trying! But no, sweetness, Hawke has proven quite stubbornly resistant to any offer of mine to have a bit of... girly fun. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen her show more than a passing interest in anyone except you." I bite my lips to hide a thrilled smile at hearing that, but I don't think I quite manage to conceal it completely.

Isabela raises an amused eyebrow at me. "You really ought to be talking to her about this, not me."

I feel a sudden chill of nervous fear at the thought of approaching Hawke with this. "I-I can't, I just can't. I wouldn't know what to say; I'd probably just say something painfully stupid and ruin everything."

Isabela sighs, sounding just a bit exasperated with me. "Well, then, until you get brave enough, I'll continue to consider her free game. She's really _very_ attractive, you know. Those ice blue eyes of hers are to die for, aren't they? And those full, rosy red lips, just screaming to be kissed. That slender waist, and those swaying hips, and that firm, round-"

"Isabela!"

"Just trying to help, kitten! Perhaps I'll just have to make you jealous enough to take a little initiative, hmm?"

I look away from her in embarrassment just as Hawke and Varric come out of the Qunari compound at last. Hawke spots us, beckoning us over as she and Varric head down the steps and start walking down the street. Isabela ruffles my hair and winks at me when I give her a slightly irritated glance, then she takes a few brisk steps to walk beside Hawke, slipping an arm around Hawke's waist and looking over her shoulder to arch an eyebrow at me with a teasing smile. I flush at both her actions, and the dawning realisation that, even though I know exactly what she's doing, and she just told me she was going to, I actually am feeling a little jealous as I watch her.

Isabela leans into Hawke, who looks up at the taller woman in surprise as she lets her hand wander a bit lower, brushing lightly down Hawke's side before finally settling on the curve of her hip, fingers stroking across the fabric of Hawke's tunic, a little. Alright, now I'm very jealous. I hurry after them and catch up with Varric, pacing along just behind Hawke and Isabela as Hawke leads us towards the pulley lift to Darktown at the base of the wharf, Isabela clinging persistently against her side as we walk.

"So, what did the oxman want, then?" Isabela asks Hawke, turning her head a little to look at her, making it so her lips are almost brushing Hawke's cheek. My body feels oddly stiff and tense, all of a sudden.

"He said someone stole something called saar... saar... something or other," Varric says, rather unhelpfully, observing Isabela's antics with a look of amusement.

"Someone stole the formula for some sort of lethal poison gas from the Qunari, apparently thinking it was their mysterious blackpowder," Hawke clarifies calmly, though I can see her watching Isabela cautiously out of the corner of her eye with a baffled sort of expression. She doesn't exactly look pleased about Isabela's attentions. Well, I suppose that's kind of encouraging, at least. "The Arishok thinks it was that dwarf merchant Javaris who wanted it years ago. The one who had us running around killing Tal-Vashoth for him."

"I don't believe it. He's not exactly a prince, but he's no burglar," Varric says, shaking his head.

"If he's not a professional thief, then there's no way this Javaris stole from the Qunari. That's hard... I've heard," Isabela says quickly, dropping her arm from Hawke's waist to fiddle with her earring again.

I feel the tension in my shoulders ease, a bit, and take the opportunity to step in between Hawke and Isabela, ignoring her smothered chuckle as I look up at Hawke, trying to match her pace. "Did the Arishok want us to get it back for him, then?"

She smiles down at me warmly, then shakes her head a little. "Not exactly. He said his informing us was simply a 'courtesy' so that we could stop this poison being made, since in the wrong hands it will kill a lot of people, probably including whoever stole it as well as anyone near them." Her smile fades, and she looks troubled. "That, or drive them crazy with murderous rage, apparently."

"Well, that's just great," Isabela sighs. "So where to now, then?"

"Varric suggested we try asking the Coterie in Darktown about Javaris's whereabouts." Hawke answers as we reach the lift, gesturing for us to go in ahead of her.

"I haven't kept up on the squirt, I'm afraid," Varric explains apologetically as we step inside. "All I have to go on is a sell-off I heard about. Merchant territories and such. They don't do that unless someone left in a hurry. I'd have figured he'd rooked some noble, though. I just don't think he'd have the balls to steal from the Arishok himself."

"It does take a unique mix of skill and insane courage to do something that daring and impressive... one would think," Isabela says, turning to busy herself with the lift lever.

"If it turns out he wasn't the thief, he may still know someone else who might have wanted the blackpowder enough to try and steal this decoy," Hawke reasons as we begin our descent, putting a hand out to stop me falling over as the lift starts moving with a jerk. "Birds of a feather, and all that. Maybe he can lead us to whoever did steal this formula. Either way, I just hope we can get there before whoever has it tries to make it."

* * *

><p>xxx H xxx<p>

* * *

><p>I lower my staff cautiously, watching a little sadly as the last of the gas-crazed mercenaries convulses; my lightning bolt frying her body from the inside out. She shudders one final time, and dies, her limp and lifeless body sprawled amongst the dozens of mercenaries, hired guards, and even a few civilians, all of whom attacked us on sight in a mad frenzy the moment we stepped into the dank Lowtown side alley. Javaris pointed us to the right place after we found him, but we arrived here far too late; The Qunari saar-qamek gas had already been made and released, poisoning the entire district, killing some, and driving the rest completely insane. If only we'd gotten here sooner.<p>

Merrill and Varric pick their way tiredly back over to where I stand, and Isabela searches carefully through the fresh corpses. Looking for evidence of Javaris's elven thief, hopefully. I turn to Merrill and Varric as they reach me, trying unsuccessfully to wipe some of the blood from my face. "The Arishok was right about one thing. The poison got the thieves."

"Yes," Varric says, coughing slightly as he sweeps his gaze sadly over the carnage. "This is much better."

"Creators. This _burns_," Merrill whispers, trying to fan the poisonous vapours away from her face with her hand. She starts to say something else, but suddenly starts coughing too, and tugs quickly at the faded scarf around her neck, pulling it up to cover her mouth. Her eyes are watering a little, but I think it has more to do with what happened here rather than from the coughing or the gas that still contaminates the air. So much death; and innocent civilians too...

I feel an unpleasant tickle at the back of my throat, which is starting to feel tight and dry now, despite us having stopped most of the gas leaks during the brief lulls in between all the fighting. Not long now before it starts to affect us as well. We need to close off the remaining barrel, and soon. I cast my gaze about, searching for something to shut off the last of the saar-qamek leaks completely, carefully examining the faces of the dead mercenaries, as well. "Any sign of this elf Javaris mentioned, yet?" I say, directing my question to Isabela. "He said she'd be here. If she's the one who stole the gas, then I would have expected to find her body here amongst the first victims."

Isabela turns over another body, then shakes her head grimly as she stands, wiping her hands on the scarf at her waist. "All I see is dead humans, so far."

I spot a discarded wrench lying a few feet away from the last open barrel and pick it up, using it to clamp down on the barrel lid, stopping any more foul green gas from seeping insidiously out to poison the night air. I hear the clink of mail and plate as I finish, and look up towards the top of the stairs above me. A petite blonde elven woman in chainmail armour stands on the landing above us, a group of heavily armed human men on her flank. This must be who the dwarf meant.

She stares down at us, eyes wide and staring. "He said we'd be alright. He said we'd kill a few, not everyone. Not everyone!" she exclaims loudly to no one in particular.

I straighten, and examine her closely. Her face is dry and cracked, and her eyes are bloodshot and wide, rolling wildly about in their sockets without really focusing on anything, one of them twitching rapidly as she gazes about, muttering incoherently under her breath. The men behind her don't appear to be in much better condition; scratching furiously at their eyes and faces, or babbling quiet nonsense to themselves. One of them is singing an old nursery rhyme softly to his helmet as he cradles it lovingly in his arms. I think it's safe to assume they've all been exposed to the insanity-gas.

I clear my throat, attempting to attract the blonde elf's attention. "This would roughly be your fault, I presume?"

Her gaze snaps to me, suddenly, and she peers down at me through the gloom and the lingering green haze. "Is that... Serah Hawke?" She narrows her eyes, her mouth twisting into an ugly sneer as mad rage fills her face. "You have enemies! I'm glad it's you, really." Her expression abruptly changes to one of sadness and distress as she gazes over my head at the dead bodies littering the street."These poor people!" Well, at least she seems a little regretful about all this. She quickly twists her head back to me as her face resumes its former look of fanatical fury, and her voice grows hard again. "You are a much better target!"

"Whoa," Varric mutters quietly behind me. That really just about sums it up. I frown, studying her face carefully. I don't think we've ever met, yet she somehow knows my name, and my face. Apparently more than one person has taken an interest in me of late. I wonder briefly how she knows who I am, then decide it doesn't matter, not at this moment.

"So..." I begin slowly, crossing my arms and staring up challengingly at the saar'qamek thief. "Care to explain your particular brand of crazy?"

Her face darkens abruptly, and she growls deep in her throat. "Qunari take my people! My siblings forget their culture, so they go to the Qun for purpose," she hisses angrily. "We're losing them twice!" I hear a small, sad sigh that must have come from Merrill as the crazed elf continues, working herself into a frenzy of demented rage. "So I get some help from your people. We'll take the Qunari thunder, make some accidents and make them hated! Make the powder, blame the oxmen. But this... this is all wrong."

My mind works furiously as I try to piece her crazed words and mad logic together. So she would have killed people anyway, if she had succeeded in stealing the blackpowder, and framed the Qunari for it. And she had help from someone, presumably a human, perhaps someone who knows of me, and warned their people about me accordingly. Under other circumstances, I might find that oddly flattering. As it is, I just want to find out who is the real mastermind behind this atrocity. "You... wanted people to die? Which of 'my people' put you up to this?"

She ignores my questions, staring at me without blinking, apparently thinking furiously. "It can still work!" she declares suddenly. "They are hidden in your city. They'll enrage the faithful, and make sure the Qunari are blamed. Me, I'm finished. I just need a few more bodies." A slow, wide grin creeps across her face, and her eyes roll with madness as she draws her sword, signalling her men forward. "A few more."

I sigh inwardly before we dash to the base of the stairs to meet them. Even though they're all trained mercenaries, armed and armoured to the teeth and filled with murderous rage, it just doesn't seem sporting to kill them, somehow. After all, in this state, they hardly present much of a threat to anyone with an ounce of fighting ability. But a bunch of well-armed lunatics with lethal combat skills are still an unacceptable risk to the city's civilians, and we dispatch the crazed sell-swords without hesitation, quickly, cleanly, and mercifully.

"Andraste's tits, I'm glad that's over," Isabela says once the last of them falls still, somewhat irreverently wiping her blades on the trouser leg of the nearest dead mercenary. "Did anyone else happen to catch what all this was about? All I heard was nonsense."

"She was furious that the Qunari were taking elven converts, so she was trying to cause an accident that could be blamed on the Qunari, to break the peace and provoke Kirkwall officials to push them out," I say, looking down at the still body of the blonde elf. "From what I gathered, she was angry that the elves in question were abandoning their culture to convert to the Qun."

"A lot of elves have left the alienage recently," Merrill puts in softly. "I suppose they might think they'll have a better life amongst the Qunari, if that's where they all went. It makes me sad that they would prefer to trade their heritage for it, if so."

She does look a bit shaken by this whole incident. I put a hand on her shoulder in sympathy. "You alright?"

She nods reassuringly, smiling up at me. "Oh, yes, I'll be fine, Hawke. Thank you for asking."

"Are you sure, kitten?" Isabela says, raising an eyebrow at Merrill. "You are looking a little pale. Perhaps there's something Hawke could do to put a little colour back in your cheeks?"

"I... no, I'm alright, really, I am..." Isabela raises an eyebrow at her. Merrill blushes and falls silent, looking down, and Isabela shakes her head a little, wearing a bemused expression. I stare between them, somewhat confused by their exchange. Am I missing something? I'm not precisely sure what just happened, but it doesn't really matter right at this moment. This isn't over yet.

Varric recalls us abruptly to this fact when he suddenly sighs loudly, resettling Bianca carefully on his back as he glances around the alley a final time. "So Javaris wasn't the thief, but the poison gas still killed a whole street's worth of people. Time to tell the Arishok how he was right... and wrong." He looks up at me solemnly. "Let's leave this mess for the guard to clean up, and get back over to the docks."

I nod, somewhat reluctantly, and lead the way out of the alley. I can't say I'm looking forward to telling the Arishok about this, or reporting back to the Viscount. Even though we were given a late start, and a false lead to follow, this all somehow feels like a failure. We were too late to stop the release of the saar-qamek and the resulting carnage; all we could do was perform what essentially amounted to a few mercy killings. Hardly one of our more successful missions. Still, in uncovering the truth, at least we have hopefully managed to prevent an uprising against the Qunari. That's the last thing Kirkwall needs right now; though I can't help but feel that this won't be the last of it, unfortunately.

Isabela swaggers up suddenly beside me as we make our way through Lowtown, nudging me deliberately with her hip and quirking a suggestive eyebrow at me when I turn to look at her questioningly. I am somewhat perplexed by her actions; particularly so soon after her earlier behaviour. _Maker, what is the matter with her today?_ She smiles secretively at my reaction, and then glances over her shoulder with a mischievous look in her eye. I try to follow her gaze, looking for some explanation as to what she's playing at, but all I see behind us is Varric, covering his mouth in a vain effort to hide a smile, and Merrill, who is frowning fiercely at Isabela, apparently not noticing my regard. She probably thinks Isabela is being inappropriate; starting her flirtatious games so soon after leaving behind a street full of corpses, civilians among them. Isabela gives a low chuckle and turns back around, brushing against my hip again as she does so, before walking on as though nothing happened. At least she's keeping her hands to herself at the moment, thankfully. Not that I'm not flattered, I suppose, but I believe I've made it clear to her that I'm not interested in meaningless casual sex. I left that carefree part of me back with the charred remains of my life in Lothering. I'm not certain exactly what is behind this sudden burst of licentious behaviour, but she seems to have stopped for the time being, so I decide to put it out of my mind. There's rather more troubling things to worry about at the moment, namely the reactions of the Arishok and Viscount respectively, when I inform them of the latest Lowtown massacre, and the intolerant and hostile intent behind it. The sooner this is over with, the better.

I just hope the Arishok is still in a relatively good mood.

* * *

><p>xxx M xxx<p>

* * *

><p>"You go ahead. I just have to... pamper a kitty."<p>

Hawke shakes her head at Isabela's latest and silliest excuse for not going into the Qunari compound, stopping at the base of the steps to look at her, smiling in amusement."'Pamper a kitty?' That's your lamest justification yet, Isabela," Hawke laughs. It's nice to hear her clear, musical laughter; it makes everything seem brighter again, after what just happened.

Isabela smirks, glancing over at me briefly. Oh, dear; that can't be good. Isabela puts a hand on her hip, looking at Hawke, tilting her head to one side. "Perhaps you should try it sometime." She still hasn't given up on - how did she put it - getting me to take a little initiative, it seems. "Go on, then. You go in with Hawke this time... _kitten_," she says, giving me a little push in the small of my back, propelling me towards Hawke with a laugh and a wink. I stumble towards her and trip over my own feet, of course, and Hawke reaches out automatically, catching me under the arms and setting me back on my feet, then placing her hands on my shoulders to steady me. Our faces are very close all of a sudden; I'm staring straight into her eyes. _Mythal, not even the sky could ever be so blue!_ She looks back at me, eyes wide, and suddenly there it is again, that flash of... of something. I'm almost certain it was there this time. I don't want to move, I want to see it again, if it was really there. I think it was. Hawke is still too, seemingly frozen in place. She also seems to be breathing very fast, all of a sudden. Her eyes are as bright as ever, but somehow they also seem to darken with something, some emotion I can't name, stirring deep in their burning depths as she gazes into my eyes...

Varric clears his throat, breaking the spell. We both blink dazedly and turn to look at him.

"Uh, Hawke, Daisy? Could we hurry up and go in? There's a big disgruntled oxman waiting for us to tell him where his poison barrels went, and I'd prefer not to keep him in suspense."

"Right. Oxman. Yes." Hawke says, letting go of me gently as she straightens, turning slightly to look at him.

Isabela makes a quiet noise of exasperation and punches Varric in the shoulder. He looks up at her, frowning as he rubs ruefully at his new bruise. "Ow. What? Hawke caught her; she's fine, now, so we can go. Right, Daisy?"

"Oh, y-yes, Varric. I'm fine. You're right, we should talk to the Arishok now."

Isabela rolls her eyes, shaking her head as she walks over to lean against the wall. "Just go. Get it over with, then. I'll be here, minding my own business."

"You're going to miss all the fun, you know," Hawke jokes as we start to head up the compound steps.

Isabela scoffs in wry amusement behind us. "Somehow, I think I'll survive."

* * *

><p>"So, I was wrong about our thief," the big grey-skinned giant rumbles once Hawke finishes explaining everything to him, gazing down at us from his makeshift throne, such as it is. "A strange feeling; to be incorrect about such a character."<p>

"You'll get used to it," Hawke says cheekily, craning her neck to look up at the Arishok and somehow managing to make it seem as though she is on the same level as him, meeting his fierce gaze eye-to-eye.

The Arishok shakes his head slowly with a look of disgust. "They will say we were careless with our trap, that this is our fault. But even without the saar-qamek, there would have been death. This elf was determined to lay blame at our feet."

What an odd thing to say! Why would she do that, exactly? Who would blame a foot for something? I frown, looking between him and Hawke, and speak without thinking. "But your feet didn't do anything wrong! Did they?"

The Arishok settles his chilling gaze on me, and I nearly take a step back at the look in his eyes. _Uh-oh. I really shouldn't have said anything. Just don't panic, maybe he won't be that angry. _His brows lower dangerously. _Oh, dear._ "I admire conviction with a focus, but _your_ kind is truly committed to weakness," he growls. "This elven thief is evidence enough of that."

Hawke crosses her arms across her chest, glaring up at him challengingly. "That 'weak elf' almost beat you," she says. She sounds a bit angry too, now. "She made a damn good effort at using your own weapon against you."

The Arishok waves a dismissive hand at her words. "We have but one weapon - the certainty of the Qun. It cannot be used against us," he says gravely.

I suddenly have to suppress a giggle. I suppose he meant for that to sound wise, or profound, or philosophical or something, but it just sort of sounded a bit silly, to me. But laughing at him would probably not be such a great idea, really. Perhaps a witty comment? The Arishok seems not to get that cross when Hawke makes one. I could give it a try, anyway. I tilt my head, looking up at him, emboldened after speaking to him once already by accident, and not getting killed. "Well, of course not. Certainty's not pointy enough to make a good weapon."

Hawke chuckles in her throat, and I look at her in surprise as she bites her lips to stop the sound of her laughter from reaching the big Qunari's earring-covered ears. Maybe it was a good joke after all, if she thinks so! I think I hear Varric trying to smother a laugh behind me, too. I guess Hawke must be rubbing off on me.

The Arishok ignores me this time, however, continuing as though I hadn't spoken at all. "And it doesn't matter. I am not here to fight; I am here to satisfy a demand you cannot understand."

"It's taking long enough," Hawke says, eyes narrowed.

"It will take as long as needed," he says slowly, an impatient edge tainting his gravelly voice."No ship is coming. There is no rescue from duty to the Qun." He leans forward, fixing Hawke in his fierce grey glare. "I am stuck here."

Hawke looks confused. "But staying was your choice. You could have built a ship by now, you know."

The Arishok shakes his head in annoyance, his gaze growing even fiercer. I didn't think that was possible! "It is not about a ship!" he says angrily.

I don't understand. Isn't that why they're still here? Hawke cocks her head slightly, looking at him suspiciously. "That is not the understanding of city officials," she says evenly, but the unspoken question in her voice is clear, even to me.

The Arishok growls almost under his breath, his face twisting viciously in a silent snarl. "Filth stole from us. Not now, not the saar-qamek. Years ago! A simple act of greed has bound me. We are all denied Par Vollen until I alone recover what was stolen under my command." His voice grows louder, angrier."That is why this elf and her shadows are unimportant. That is why I do not simply walk from this pustule of a city." He stands abruptly, pacing back and forth along the top of his dais as his voice builds in volume and ferocity. "Fixing your mess is not the demand of the Qun..." He turns swiftly, stalking to the edge of the steps and pointing a giant finger violently in our direction with a furious roar: "And you should all be grateful!"

His voice reverberates throughout the compound. Even the echoes are still loud, and angry; I can almost feel the ground shaking under my feet! Hawke matches the Arishok's fierce stare for a few uncomfortable moments. Well, uncomfortable for me, anyway. I would very much like to leave, now. I'm sure Varric feels the same; I can hear him behind me, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. But Hawke doesn't move at all. She holds the Arishok's eyes without backing down. Oh, she is so brave! I could never manage that.

Finally the Arishok drops his gaze, turning back towards his seat. Does that mean she won? Was it that sort of staring contest? "Thank you, human, for your service." The Arishok says as he sits back down, glaring at a point over Hawke's head. "Leave."

He looks more cranky than ever, now! Maybe his head is itchy. Hawke inclines her head gracefully in his direction, and turns, gesturing for us to follow his suggestion.

I look up at her as we walk back through the compound gates. "He's a bit touchy, isn't he? Perhaps we should go and see the Viscount, now."

She nods, catching Isabela's eye where she is lounging against the opposite wall, and waves her over. "We'll go now, and finish this."

"You're all in one piece, I see," Isabela grins as she saunters over. "I was a little concerned when he started bellowing." She laughs. "Everyone in the street froze right in middle of whatever they were doing. It would have been hilarious if I hadn't been worried the Qunari were about to toss your lifeless bodies out the gates at any moment. What did you do?"

"Hawke just told him what happened," Varric tells her. "I'm not really sure which part got him so worked up."

"I don't think he was mad at us, exactly," I say thoughtfully. "He didn't start yelling until he said something about a thief. Not the elf, though; someone who stole something from him years ago."

"A thief?" Isabela repeats, looking around at each of us in turn. I frown; she looks a bit pale. I suppose maybe she was more scared for us than she let on, when the Arishok yelled like that. It must have been worrying, hearing it but not being able to see what was happening.

"That's the real reason they're still here, not the ship they're supposed to be waiting for," Hawke explains. "The Arishok says he can't leave until he recovers it, whatever 'it' is."

"Ah," Isabela says, toying with one of her golden earrings. "And did he ask you to find this thief for him, then?"

"No, thank the Maker," Varric sighs in relief. "We're done with his demands, at least for now."

"Well, that's good," Isabela smiles. She looks a lot better now. "Anything else we have to do?" she asks, looking at Hawke.

Hawke waves a hand in the general direction of Hightown. "Just check in with the Viscount, and let him know what happened here."

"Well, then, come on, let's go and hear what his Baldiness has to say," Isabela says, beckoning to us as she starts walking eagerly up the stairs away from the docks. "The sooner we get there, the sooner I can get back to the Hanged Man. I'm starting to fancy a stiff one... and a drink."

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><p>"He could have at least said thank you," Hawke grumbles as we step back outside, and start walking away from the Keep.<p>

"He did say he'd call on you again if any more problems with the Qunari arise," Varric says, giving Hawke a playful nudge. "Doesn't that just make you all warm, and fuzzy inside?"

Hawke scoffs wryly. "Sure. Like I swallowed a rat," she quips. I can't help wrinkling my nose at the unpleasant image. I know she's only joking, but still... ew. "I simply can't wait til the next time I have to butt heads with the Arishok. Keeps me on my toes. Glad his horns point backwards, though, instead of forwards."

"So kind of Seneschal Bran to allow us to wash off all of that unseemly blood and gore before we inconvenienced his beloved Viscount with our presence," Isabela says, rolling her eyes. I think this must be one of those times when she says something, but means the opposite. Varric called it 'irony', I think. He was quite amused to have to explain it to me. Another of those things everyone is supposed to just know already, I suppose.

Varric snorts. "He'd have dragged all four of us into the guard's bathing room by the scruffs of our necks if we'd refused."

"Probably with the help of the mighty Guard-Captain. Did you see her in her office, as Bran led us all back out, all freshly scrubbed and rosy cheeked?" Isabela growls. "She was laughing her arse off. I owe her one, for that. Just let her wait. "

"It's nice to be clean, though," I point out. It wasn't so bad, after all. The Seneschal even had our clothes laundered to get the blood out, while we bathed. "And the water was quite pleasant, I thought, even if it was a little embarrassing, being scolded and washed like a da'len who got caught playing in the mud."

Hawke smoothes a hand down the front of her tunic. "I admit, I do appreciate the way the maidservants managed to get out all the bloodstains. These are new clothes, after all."

We make our way back down to Lowtown, heading for the Hanged Man, at Isabela's insistence. Hawke walks with us, all the way down the long stairway, even though her estate is right at the bottom of the steps to the Keep. She could be home by now, if she wanted. I'm glad she's not, though.

Hawke is walking just ahead of me, next to Varric, who wanted to ask her about something. From what I can hear of their conversation, it's got something to do with what her plans are, now that she's living in Hightown. I dropped back a little to walk with Isabela. I didn't want to eavesdrop, and besides, I'm a little distracted right now. I can't even concentrate on Isabela's story about the time she met the Hero of Ferelden in Denerim. That really ought to interest me more, since it is my old clan mate Mahariel she's speaking of, though that isn't why Isabela is telling me about it. I doubt she's even aware there's any sort of connection between us; I don't tend to talk about that time of my life, after all. It's not a happy memory. I prefer to concentrate on what I'm doing now. Even so, I should probably be acting more impressed, for Isabela's sake; that's probably what she's expecting, after all. But I really can't concentrate properly, though I should ask her to tell me again later; I'd like very much to hear more of what happened to Mahariel after she left the clan. But right now, my mind just wants to drift back to thoughts of Hawke.

I keep thinking of the look I saw in her eyes. Was it worship, like Isabela says? I can't really believe it. I can understand worshipping Hawke, because, well, I do, after all. How could anyone not? She's so amazing and brave and beautiful. It's like she's Andruil, Goddess of the Hunt and Sister of the Moon, reborn in human form. But me? What is there to worship about me? I'm just timid, and awkward, and scrawny. Nothing but a foolish, clumsy, rambling little elf. I don't know if I can really believe Isabela. Not that I think she is lying, of course not. She said she wasn't, so she's not. But she could be wrong. That seems more likely. I just... I don't see what anyone could possibly see in me, especially someone like Hawke.

Isabela nudges me, breaking me from my dismal thoughts. "Wake up, kitten." I look up, startled, and realise we've reached the Hanged Man already. Isabela takes my elbow gently and strolls over to where Hawke and Varric stand in front of the tavern door, grinning cheekily at Hawke.

"Well, thanks so much for the lovely outing, Hawke. I don't suppose you care to reward my good behaviour with a pint or two?"

"Good behaviour, eh?" Hawke laughs, raising an eyebrow at her. "At what point exactly were you behaving yourself? I must have been distracted by something shiny and missed it."

"I'll shout you a whiskey, Rivaini," Varric chuckles.

She throws an arm affectionately around his shoulders, careful to avoid touching Bianca so as not to risk scratching her. We've all learned that lesson well, by now; Varric has made very sure of that. "At least someone appreciates me. Coming in for a drink, you two?"

I smile and shake my head no, just as Hawke does the same.

"Thanks, but I'm not really in the mood. Besides," she says, looking around at me, "if I walk you home now, we should both be safely home before dark."

Isabela shrugs. "Alright. Stay safe on the way home, then. Avoid dark corners and one-armed men. Oh, and kitten," she bends down to me, speaking in a loud whisper, "as per our discussion earlier, remember to feel free to come to me with any 'dirty questions' you want answered. And you can look through my book collection anytime you want to borrow something, you know, for... inspiration. And remember what I said about taking a little initiative." She winks at me, and disappears inside the Hanged Man, pulling Varric along behind her.

Hawke watches her go with a puzzled expression. "What was that about?"

I glance up at her in dismay, though thankfully she is still looking at the tavern door and doesn't see my expression. _By the Dread Wolf, she heard that?_ _Creators have mercy on you, Isabela, I'm not sure I will be so kind._ I try my best to look confused as well, before she looks at me. It shouldn't be a difficult expression for me to assume, surely. "I-I have no idea. She has been acting a little oddly, hasn't she?"

"I'll say. And not just with the Qunari aversion thing, either." Hawke frowns, turning to me. "She was particularly... 'handsy', today. More so than usual." I suddenly feel a stab of guilt at the agitated expression on her face. Isabela's behaviour was my fault, after all; she would never have started acting that way if it weren't for me asking her about Hawke, and being too afraid to agree to her suggestion. Well, probably not, anyway. Still, I can't help but feel glad that Hawke looks so uncomfortable about it, although that's not really very nice of me, is it? Being happy about her discomfort? I am, though; a little. It's probably the jealousy thing again. I guess Isabela's plan is working.

Hawke rubs at the back of her neck, further betraying her disquiet. "Did she say anything to you? Anything out of the ordinary, I mean"

My eyes widen guiltily before I can stop them, and I rapidly try to look as innocent as possible to make up for it, though I'm certain that I am dreadfully unconvincing. "Um... no. No, I don't think so. We talked, when you went to see the Arishok the first time, of course, but not about anything unusual, I wouldn't say." It's not a lie, not really. Isabela talks about that sort of thing all the time.

"Well, I'm at a loss to explain it. Maybe she hasn't been to the Rose enough lately, or something. Shall I walk you home before the sun sets?"

I nod happily. "Yes, I would like that. Very much." She smiles at me, in that wonderful way she does that somehow just makes everything seem to glow with warmth and light. Perhaps it's only wishful thinking, but... I don't think I've ever seen her smile that way at anyone else. Maybe... maybe Isabela could be right, after all.

As we turn to walk down the street, she slips her arm about my shoulders, drawing me close. I can't help but lean into her a little as we walk; the air is getting a little chilly, now, and her body is so warm where I'm pressed against her side. And after what Isabela told me, I think it might be alright. Hawke doesn't seem to mind, so far. At least, she certainly doesn't try to pull away. And... she hugged me first, after all, didn't she? Oh, I hope Isabela isn't mistaken. It feels so nice, being so close to Hawke like this. It feels... right.

I look up at the dirty house on the corner at the end of the street as we pass by; the house where Hawke's grouchy uncle lives. Where she used to live. We were neighbours, then. Except for the different neighbourhoods thing. Still, almost neighbours, though. It must take her so long now to come all the way down those stairs to the very bottom of Lowtown, to the alienage. It's too much to expect that we would still see as much of each other as we used to, before she moved to Hightown, but she does keep coming to see me, even if not nearly as often as before. Although that's really my fault, too; I have been very busy with the eluvian, and sometimes I just don't have the time to spare. It's just so important.

I frown as I consider that last thought. The mirror does take up so much of my time. Even if... if Isabela is right about Hawke, maybe... maybe I shouldn't try and do anything about it now. Not until I finish the mirror. It wouldn't be fair, otherwise; I'd be too preoccupied trying to repair the eluvian, and if we were... were together... then I wouldn't want any distractions at all. I sneak a look up at Hawke as we turn the corner, drinking in the inky blackness of her hair, the fierce blue of her eyes, the deep red of her lips, which curve in a sweet smile as she glances down at me suddenly, almost as though she sensed me watching her. And I was trying so hard not to be obvious about it. Her eyes catch the light of the setting sun, sparkling like sapphires as they gaze at me. I smile back shyly. I want to be able to give her all of my time. All of my attention. I want... I want to give her all of me.

But then... waiting until the eluvian is complete might take longer than I could stand. Using my blood is becoming less and less effective, and if I don't find a better way, it could take years to mend the eluvian completely. I certainly don't want to wait that long. I think... maybe if I use a tool of the ancient Elvhen, then perhaps the magic will be more potent, and I can join the last remaining cracks, and wake the slumbering power within the eluvian a lot sooner than I will ever manage otherwise. I know Master Ilen has such a thing. An arulin'holm; an ancient tool used by the old carving artisans. Perhaps it was even used by our ancestors to create the mirrors in the first place. Such a blade, steeped in the old memories of the ancient magic it must have been used to perform may be just the thing I need. But... but I don't want to go back to the clan alone. Not without help, at least. Marethari will never willingly help me fix the eluvian, but... maybe if Hawke talks to her, asks her to let me have it? Hawke can be very persuasive. Sometimes I think she could convince a dragon not to eat her even if she was already in its mouth. And if even Hawke can't persuade Marethari, I can always invoke Vir Sulevanan. I'm sure Hawke will help with whatever impossible task the Keeper will set me, if it comes to that.

And surely if anyone will understand what I'm trying to do, Hawke will. I should have told her about it before now, and I would have, only... I don't like to bring up my use of blood magic to my friends; it just makes them uncomfortable, or makes them outright hate me, like Fenris. I should have told Hawke though, I should have been able to trust her with it, of all people. I don't know that she approves of my blood magic, exactly, but she's never lectured me about it, not like the Keeper. And considering her father taught her about magic, and he came from the Circle of Magi, I would have thought she'd at least try and tell me how dangerous and evil blood magic is, and that sort of thing, just like Anders always does. But she never does. She simply accepts it. If I tell her why I need to use it, she'll understand, won't she? Maybe... maybe, if I ask her, she'll help me. And maybe once we're alone, I can try that... that flirting thing Isabela suggested, just to see if Hawke reacts like Isabela told me she should, to see if she really feels the way Isabela thinks. If I don't lose my nerve. And if she doesn't... if she doesn't... well, I can still ask her for help. If she does... then the sooner I can finish the mirror, the better.

I should ask her now, while I've got her attention. "Hawke?"

She tilts her head inquisitively, still looking at me, smiling. "Yes, Merrill?"

I bite my lip a little, wondering how to begin, exactly. "I've... I've been thinking about what you said, before, you know, when you offered to help me with my work? And, well, there is something I could use your assistance with, actually."

She nods her head immediately, giving my shoulders a gentle squeeze. "Certainly. Just tell me what you need."

I knew I could ask her for help, and she'd give it. Well, of course, she told me that I could, after all. "Thank you, Hawke," I say gratefully. "I will tell you about it, once we reach my house. I've got something to show you there, first, if that's alright?"

"Of course," she says, without hesitation. She raises an eyebrow curiously, her mouth curling into another beautiful, captivating smile that steals the breath right out of my lungs. "This sounds very intriguing indeed. What is it you want to show me?"

I beam excitedly up at her. Suddenly I can't wait to show her what I've been doing, what I've been working so hard on. She'll appreciate it, I'm certain. I grasp her hand tightly where it rests on my shoulder and slip out from under her arm, pulling her eagerly along behind me as we step into the alienage, heading towards my house across the square. I'm impatient to get inside now, and show her my mirror. She'll think it is as lovely as I do, I'm sure of it. She'll understand how important it is, when I tell her what I'm doing, what the eluvian does, and she'll help me, I know she will.

I smile widely at her, pushing open the creaky door to my house, and pulling her inside after me. "Come and see."


	10. Chapter 10

_So, here we go, Merrill's mirror appears in some of its glory. I'm going away to Thailand to teach English to schoolkids for a month (no, really) so while I intend to keep writing in my downtime, it will probably be slower going during that time, and I won't have regular access to the Internet. So I wanted to give you something a little sweet, here. I hope you like it, because I do. I'll do my best to keep writing and move the story along, once I get over the jetlag/culture shock. Wish me luck!_

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><p>xxx H xxx<p>

* * *

><p>Well. I don't know what I expected Merrill to show me when she dragged me so impatiently into her bedroom, but it certainly wasn't this. She always manages to surprise me. I should really stop being surprised by that, I suppose.<p>

She stands with her back to me in the corner of the small room, staring up the huge monstrosity taking up half the back wall. I can't see her face, but her voice is a mixture of awe, elation, and the faintest touch of pride as she speaks without turning her head, her gaze firmly fixed on the... whatever it is. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

I step up behind her to examine the thing. It appears to be some sort of large mirror, vaguely resembling the body-length looking glasses I've seen in the homes of the more vain and conceited high-born ladies. Not something I would ever have expected to see in Merrill's home. Although, on closer inspection, I'm not at all sure that that's what it actually is. The carved, wooden supporting frame that twists and curls about the long rectangle of glass at its centre is elaborate enough to grace the dressing-room of even the most narcissistic noble, but the mirror piece itself is dull, clouded and cracked in several places. It's certainly impressive though, if only for the sheer size of it, but I don't think I'd describe a piece of furniture such as this as 'beautiful'. There are much lovelier things far more deserving of the word. I glance down at Merrill's exquisite features, watching as she gazes raptly at the mirror, looking utterly captivated. Utterly captivating. I can't help myself, and neither can I keep the husky tone from my voice or the admiring smile from my lips as I answer her.

"It's not nearly as pretty as you are."

Her sudden movement startles me as she turns quickly to look up into my face, her eyes wide as they search mine with a look of surprise, but also, oddly, recognition. And wonder, almost. I suppress the urge to rub the back of my neck, suddenly feeling uncomfortable and uncertain. The way she's looking at me; it's like I've done something... amazing, something she didn't think was possible, but that she was also half expecting, somehow. I can't imagine what I could've done to cause this unusual reaction. Was it something I said?

I suddenly realise just how close I'm standing to her; close enough to feel the warmth of her body, to catch her sweet scent. She smiles a little and opens her mouth to say something, just as I clear my throat nervously to dispel my discomfort. Too late, I notice her about to speak, but I can't stop myself, and she falters, falling silent at my unintentional interruption. She bites her bottom lip, lowering her head, and I take a small step back, turning to re-examine the mirror, trying to break the odd tension that suddenly seems to have sprung up between us.

"Well, of all the giant mirrors in your house, Merrill, this is easily the nicest."

I keep my eyes fixed on the mirror, trying to collect myself and conceal my confusion. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her shoulders drop, her face suddenly downcast, or maybe frustrated as she stares at the floor for a moment. Maker, what's going on? I feel like there's something very important that I'm missing here, but I have no idea what it could be. I hate seeing her look so despondent, especially since it seems to be because of me, somehow. _Say something, quickly; take her attention away from whatever it is that's bothering her._

I turn to give her a small grin, hoping that a humorous quip might save the day. Assuming I can manage one. Maybe a small, weak one, at least. "Although, I don't think it quite understands what mirrors are supposed to do. Shouldn't it reflect the room?"

She lifts her head and gives me an amused little smile, successfully distracted by my question. "No. It's not that sort of mirror."

I wait for more, but she seems content to stay quiet, just watching me with that little smile. Why is she looking at me like that? I'm really not sure what's happening. Doesn't she... doesn't she want to ask me about something? Her eyes are shining in the candlelight; the dancing flames highlighting the rosy tint along her delicate cheekbones... No. Stop staring, idiot. Focus. She was telling me about her mirror. "Does this have something to do with what you've been doing with your time? Is it an elven artefact?"

She blinks at me a few times, before finally responding, as though it took her a moment to register my question. "Oh. Yes. I've spent the last few years restoring this. Two of my clan stumbled across it in a ruin, in the Brecilian Forest. It's called an eluvian."

"What's an eluvian?" I ask her when no further information is forthcoming. "What does it do?"

Her voice, when she answers, is measured, hushed, and full of wonder, like a storyteller; the way it always is whenever she speaks of elven history. "Long ago, the elves had a kingdom. An empire that covered Thedas. And every city had an eluvian. The mirrors let them communicate across their empire." She frowns, scratching at her head a little as she stares at the mirror, and her voice resumes its normal bouncing pace and lyrical lilt, though now she sounds a little sad. "But I don't know how, exactly. My people have lost so much. We know almost nothing of the days before Arlathan. This..." She indicates the eluvian before us with a small, graceful wave of her hand. "This is a piece of our history. And from what Mahariel told me about it, I believe it stores memories, too. The knowledge of the ancient elves. Mahariel said that Tamlen saw things in the mirror, before..." She trails off, gazing at the mirror with a small troubled frown.

I study her face, concerned by the shadow behind her eyes. Whatever she's thinking of, the memory of it can't be pleasant. Something terrible must have happened to these clan mates of hers. "Before what?" I ask gently. She wants to talk about it, I can tell. She just needs a little help.

"Well... I don't know what happened, exactly; I wasn't there, not when they found the mirror. But Mahariel said... she said that Tamlen touched the mirror, and it... rippled." Merrill lifts a hand slowly towards the mirror. There's a strange feeling in the air, and a faint note that strengthens as her hand draws closer to the surface of the glass. I feel a sudden strange urge to pull her back, to snatch her away from the mirror, and I almost reach out to grab her. But she drops her hand without touching the glass, and I sigh inwardly with relief, and then pause, wondering at my strange unconscious reaction. I feel a little foolish about it, to be honest. What could there be to fear from a mirror? But that... that odd noise, that note, almost on the edge of hearing. Where have I heard that before? I shake my head a little to clear it, and realise that Merrill is still talking. I quickly turn my attention back to her, hoping I haven't missed too much.

"...and then she said she felt some sort of force coming from the mirror, like it was trying to reach out to them, but she blacked out. She didn't see where Tamlen went. A Grey Warden found her, and brought her back to the clan." Her expression crumples a little, though she tries to hide it. But she doesn't quite manage to keep the sadness from her voice as she continues. "We never found Tamlen. And Mahariel came back... poisoned by the eluvian. Sick from just being near it. We went back and found the mirror, but a Grey Warden came, and he - he broke it." Her brows draw together furiously at the memory. She's lovely when she's angry. "He smashed it into pieces. The Grey Warden told the Keeper the mirror was dangerous, to warn us away from it. But the eluvian is a part of our heritage. I couldn't just forget it." She returns her gaze to her eluvian, a small, proud smile curving the corners of her mouth."I went back, later. I found a shard of the mirror, and I kept it. I've been trying to fix it, here; I... found a way to join the broken piece to ordinary glass, trying to make it whole again." She fiddles unconsciously with the bandage across her palm.

I feel my brows lift as something suddenly clicks into place. That eerie, haunting sound that seemed to come from the mirror... I remember; I have heard it once before. "The day we met, on Sundermount... is that what you were doing? You were looking at your eluvian shard, weren't you? And that's what that strange noise was."

"Oh!" She rubs a hand through her hair, turning to look at me a little anxiously, I think. "Um... yes. I was."

"You looked so guilty when I asked you about it!" I laugh fondly, remembering her jittery nervousness that day. That wonderful day. "No wonder you were rambling so much."

She gives me a little half smile, tilting her head. "It's a wonder you ever agreed to take me home with you."

_I'd take you home with me anytime._ I risk a teasing smile. "Oh, I'd do it again, in a heartbeat. Who could be so heartless as to resist those big, pleading eyes?"

She smiles again, bashfully, but that look is back in her eyes, that knowing awe, mingled with... I would have said hope, but I can't fathom why. Maker, I don't know what's happening today. First Isabela starts behaving towards me like a cat in heat, and now Merrill is acting strangely, as well. Not in the same way as Isabela, of course, but oddly enough for her that I am beginning to grow seriously concerned. Of course, there's always the possibility that I'm imagining things and just jumping at shadows. Perhaps there's something in the water. Or perhaps that insanity-gas affected us a little more strongly than we thought.

I'm not getting anywhere trying to puzzle it out now. Maybe I should just concentrate on whatever Merrill is trying to tell me about. "So, why did the Grey Warden break the mirror?" I ask, trying to get our conversation back on track.

Her smile vanishes instantly, replaced by that same troubled frown she wore earlier. "He said it was corrupted, that it was what made Mahariel sick and that Tamlen would have been tainted too, with... with the blight corruption. That he was probably taken by the Darkspawn, if not dead already."

I stare at her in shock. I can't believe what I just heard. "The... the blight corruption? This thing has the taint? Merrill-"

"It's safe, Hawke," she assures me quickly. "I know how you must feel, but there's no need to be concerned. Really."

I bite back my anxious words, and relent. If she says it's safe... I summon my power and examine the mirror carefully. I can feel something, some echo of old magic from the mirror, perhaps... but no taint, no shadow of darkness, at least, not as far as I can detect. She must be right. I release my mana and turn to her. She is watching me quietly, waiting for me to finish my inspection with an apprehensive look in her eyes. She seems to be very anxious about what my reaction will be. Small wonder, from what she's told me about this thing so far. A thought occurs to me, suddenly, and I look at the mirror and then back to her, catching and holding her eyes. "This thing is what made the Keeper send you away, isn't it?" I ask her gently.

She nods sadly and looks down, hugging herself. "The Keeper wanted me to destroy the fragment I kept. She said our ancestors meant it to be forgotten. But it's a Keeper's place to remember. Even the dangerous things. We argued... I left." Her hands drop down to her sides, and her fists ball with the same anger that laces her voice as she looks back up at me. "She's wrong!" Merrill declares fiercely, her eyes almost giving off sparks with the strength of her conviction. "This mirror could teach us so much about who we once were!"

I think I can see why this artefact is so important to her. The knowledge she could reclaim from it would certainly be invaluable to her people, assuming she's right about what an eluvian does. If this is what she needs help with somehow, I can't see the harm in helping her. It seems a worthy thing to do, although... I can't help but feel more than a little worried by what she said about the mirror making her clan mates sick, or worse. "So... what did happen to your clan members? You said Tamlen was lost. Did Mahariel recover?"

"She did, I think," Merrill answers uncertainly, and then turns back to the mirror, raking a hand through her hair. "The human - the Warden, I mean, Duncan, I think his name was - he said she had the taint, and that only the Grey Wardens had a cure. He promised he could cure her, but only if she went with him." She sounds so sad. "She didn't want to go, but the Keeper told her she had a duty to help against the blight, if she could. Marethari's magic could keep the sickness at bay, but not forever. She said that Mahariel would die without the cure the Grey Warden offered, and told her to go with him, to have a chance at life. He took her away, and then the clan came here to Kirkwall, all the way across the sea, and... I'll probably never see her again."

She swallows, and looks down, blinking fast as though to ward off tears. _Maker._ I step up behind her and place a gentle hand on her shoulder, offering wordless solace. She glances at my hand in surprise, and then looks back and up at me with a tremulous, grateful smile. She reaches up and rests her hand on mine briefly, and then grasps it firmly, lifting my hand from her shoulder and pulling my arm around her from behind. I... well... if she wants a hug, I'm happy to oblige. I draw her closer, my front against her back, and wrap my other arm about her middle. She leans back against me, resting her little hands delicately on my forearm, and gives a small, contented sort of sigh. More odd behaviour. Not that I mind, though. I'm glad I could make her feel better. She's so warm...

"The cure must have worked for her, though," she continues suddenly, her eyes fixed on the eluvian before her. "The Keeper said she lead the armies in the battle against the Archdemon."

_Wait, what?_ I release her in shock, and she turns to look at me questioningly, a confused look on her face. I blink at her, still dazed by her revelation. She's surprised me yet again. My mind races excitedly, and I take a breath to collect myself before I start blurting unintelligible questions at her. _Be calm. If it was pleasant for her to talk about, she would have mentioned it before, surely_.

"I remember... when we met, you told me a Warden took one of your Hunters away. This Mahariel... she's the one who slew the Archdemon? You knew the Hero of Ferelden!" She nods hesitantly, and I breathe out in amazement. "That's... incredible! But then, why haven't you told me about it before now?"

She lifts one shoulder in a shrug and looks away. "I... I suppose I didn't want to talk about it. It's hard to think about her, sometimes. But yes, I knew her. We grew up together. Her father was killed by huma- ... um... by bandits... before she was born; her mother... died... soon after giving birth to her, and I was given to the Sabrae as a small child. The clan shared the raising of us both."

I feel a frown of confusion cross my features at her words. "What do you mean, you were 'given' to the Sabrae clan?"

"I..." She falters, and then sits on her small bed, looking up at me with wide eyes. "You must understand, Hawke. If a clan is in need of something, when we meet at an Arlathvhen, a gathering of the People, they will ask the other clans for help. The Dalish clans share everything with each other; stories, knowledge, artefacts." She pauses for a moment, biting her lip, and then takes a deep breath. "Even magic. Every clan must have a Keeper, and every Keeper must be a mage. But children born with magical talent are not as common amongst the People as they once were."

"Yes. You said that too," I remember aloud, nodding slowly. I don't know if I'm going to like where this conversation is going. "You said all elves once had the gift, but not anymore."

"According to our stories, at least. Anyway..." Merrill looks down at her hands, clasping them in her lap. "Keeper Marethari needed a First, to train in the old ways and to lead the Sabrae clan, once she passed. I was born into the Alerion clan, in Nevarra. They already had several mages, but the Sabrae had none, besides the Keeper. When the clans met, I was given to Marethari to be trained." She gazes at up me beseechingly, meeting my appalled expression with pleading eyes, silently asking me to understand. I don't know if I can, it just sounds so terrible, passing children around like items for trade.

I sit close beside her on the bed, holding her wide-eyed gaze with concern. "You were taken from your family? Oh, Merrill..." By the Maker, I had no idea. I thought perhaps her parents were dead, since she never talks about them, and I didn't like to ask. But this... She never said anything to me. "But... what about your mother and father? Surely they didn't want to lose you?"

She drops her gaze again, twisting her fingers together. "I... I don't remember much about it. I was only four. I know that they were asked. I wasn't just stolen from them. But, Hawke..." She raises her head, her eyes now ablaze with the fierce pride of her people. "The Dalish have a duty to help one other. It's what we do, what we must do, for the clans to survive. And it would have been an honour for my parents, to know that I was to be a Keeper, one day. I'm sure it was not an easy choice for them, but they made the best decision. They did, really."

_Four years old. Just a little child. Maker preserve us._ I take a moment to organise my thoughts, to try to process what I've heard. "I'm... I'm not sure how to feel about that. Separating you from your parents... you were so young. It doesn't seem right."

Merrill considers my words for a moment, before nodding gently, once. There's an audible tremor in her voice when she answers me; "No. It isn't, not really. But it was needed."

"Have you... have you seen them at all, since then?" I ask her hesitantly.

She shakes her head. "No. It's too dangerous for the clans to meet often. We only gather together at the Arlathvhen meetings, every ten years. The last Arlathvhen came when I was fourteen, but there was some sort of trouble in Nevarra, and the Alerion did not come. The next meeting of the clans should be in a few years. Perhaps then... that is, if they will allow me to attend, without... without a clan."

The pain and misery in her voice stills my heart, and I wrap my arm around her shoulders in sympathy. She leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder.

"Of course they'll let you, Merrill." I reassure her, giving her a gentle squeeze. "And who knows, maybe you'll even see Mahariel again."

She sighs softly. "Maybe you're right, Hawke. I hope you are. I would like that, very much."

There is such sadness in her voice when she speaks of her lost clan mate. Such longing. I'm sure it's none of my business, but...

"Is she... special to you?" My voice comes out quieter than I intended, likely a product of my anxiety about what her answer will be. She sits up at my tentative question, turning to look into my face with a small frown, studying me intently, and I curse myself. Maybe I've crossed a line, asking her that. Maybe it was too personal. I shouldn't have asked.

"She was my friend," she answers eventually. _Friend. _It's foolish of me, really, but Maker, am I glad to hear that. "Probably the only real friend I had, back then. Being the Keeper's First, I didn't have a lot of time to spend with the others, even as a small child, and so I wasn't... very good with people. I never learned how to be, I suppose. But it didn't seem to bother Mahariel. She always made time for me, even after she and Tamlen started courting." She lowers her eyes sadly. "I miss her."

I touch her hand gently, my fingers brushing against the rough bandage around her palm. "I'm sorry. It sounds like she was a wonderful friend to have. But it was important, what she did. She ended the Blight, and saved us all. She did the Dalish proud."

"She did, at that." She falls silent, gazing at the eluvian with her bottom lip caught thoughtfully between her teeth, slowly causing it to turn a deep, enticing red... and I'm staring at her again. I look away quickly before she catches me, and follow the direction of her gaze to the eluvian towering imposingly over us. I should really ask her more about it. This is why she wants me here, after all, isn't it?

"So this eluvian needs to be fixed completely before you can use it to help your people, right? To reclaim the knowledge and memories of your ancestors?"

She nods, her eyes still roaming over the mirror contemplatively. "Yes. Well, it's what I want to do with it now, at least." She pulls her gaze away to look across at me. "When I first started working on it, I wanted to use it to help my friends. Mahariel was so distraught when Tamlen disappeared, and she was taken away before she could look for him properly. I thought if I fixed the eluvian, I could use it to find him for her. But it's been so long. The clan gave up, and moved on... Tamlen must be long gone by now." She shakes her head sadly, returning her gaze to her mirror. "Anyway. I know I can use the eluvian to help my people recover what we've lost. There must be so much knowledge of the ancient Elvhen inside it. I just need to get it working."

I'm glad she trusted me with this, at last. Although admittedly, I'm a little concerned about the potential threat this thing may still pose. I still can't feel any taint resonating from it, but that doesn't mean I should cast all caution aside; after all, the mirror only tainted Merrill's clan mates before it was broken. Perhaps it is simply lying dormant until Merrill succeeds in repairing it. I look at her, considering whether or not to voice my concerns, and then decide not to. She knows more about it than I do, after all, and she's come to me for help, not an interrogation. "I'm sure you wouldn't show something this dangerous to just anyone," I begin, intending to offer my assistance with whatever she needs, but she interrupts me, jumping up from the bed suddenly and moving to stand with her back to the eluvian, almost protectively, as though I might leap forward and smash it without any provocation.

"It's not dangerous, I promise!" Merrill says earnestly, waving her arms for emphasis. I open my mouth to reassure her but she doesn't seem to notice, her words tumbling over one another as they leap frantically through her lips. "I fixed it, or-or tried to. With blood magic. The mirror won't hurt anyone. But... it doesn't work. I've tried everything, and I think it's because it needs to be finished with a special tool." She pauses briefly, as though waiting for my denial, or objections, or lectures. But I don't have anything to say; I just watch her, waiting for her to tell me what she needs. "An arulin'holm," she continues after a moment, giving me what I assume to be the elven name for this special tool she mentioned. "And my clan has one. It's been in their hands for generations..."

_Ah. So this is what she's after._ I give her a wry grin. "I hear a 'but' coming," I say, and then turn my grin into an understanding smile. I know why she doesn't want to go and ask for this tool by herself. "You're afraid to face Keeper Marethari again, aren't you?"

She nods her head apprehensively. "I can't go back there alone. You have no idea. The Keeper... I can't talk to her, we fight, or talk circles around each other. She has a disappointed frown that turns your bones to jelly! Please help me?" She stares up at me with those big green eyes, practically begging for my help. "You will, won't you?"

I doubt I could say no to her, even if I wanted to. Especially now that she's using that 'you kicked my puppy' voice again. And those sorrowful, pleading eyes. "I'll go with you, of course I will. We can go tomorrow, if you like."

Merrill sighs with profound relief, grasping both of my hands in hers. "Ma serannas!" she says, smiling up at me joyfully. "I knew if anyone would understand, you would. I'll find some way to repay you, I promise!"

_Will you, now?_ "Oh, I'm sure I could think of some way for you to thank me." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I cringe inwardly, hoping she won't notice the rough edge to my voice.

"Well, of course you could," she says, a small, secretive smile appearing on her face, accompanied by a rather charming blush. She glances down at our intertwined hands for a moment, then takes a deep breath and looks up at me shyly though her eyelashes. "If... If you ask me nicely, I might just do it."

I blink in surprise. I've never heard her use that tone before. Her voice sounded... a little throaty, like mine did, just now, although that was because I was... well, alright, I was flirting a little, but she... no, she can't have been, can she? Where would she have learned that? I'm imagining things again, that must be it. Or it's just wishful thinking.

Even so, my mouth curves in a half-smile as I watch the warm blush spreading across her cheeks. "Well, then, as soon as something comes to me, I'll let you know," I tease gently, unable to resist.

Her blush deepens, but she holds my gaze steadily, and her smile widens a little. Her left hand shifts in mine, and the rough cotton bandage around her palm grazes my fingers. I look down at her hand suddenly, frowning as I recall what she said about fixing the mirror with blood magic. If restoring this mirror is all she needs it for, I suppose I can accept it. At least, I can refrain from lecturing her about it. I wish there was another way for her to do this, but I don't have any ideas. I still can't say I'm comfortable with it, though.

I take her wounded hand in both of mine, turning it over and working at the tight knot. She doesn't try to pull away; she stands still, letting me unwind the blood-soaked bandage carefully. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to hold back a gasp when the bandage finally falls away, exposing the fresh series of deep cuts running the length of her palm. _Maker's mercy_. I glance up at her, distressed, and she gazes back levelly.

"It looks worse than it feels, Hawke. It's not so bad, really," she says quietly.

I refrain from commenting. I've decided to try and be supportive, after all, haven't I? _By Andraste, this is hard. _My fingers close about her wrist, and I draw her back over to her bed, sitting down on the edge and patting the space next to me. She settles herself close beside me, and I turn her hand palm up again. "Doesn't mean you have to leave it like this. Let me see what I can do."

I bend my head over her hand, closely examining on the half-healed gashes across her palm. I send gentle threads of creation magic probing gently along their edges, trying to identify the deepest, most serious cut to mend first as Merrill leans over a little to watch me, her warm breath gently stirring the fine hairs on the back of my neck. To call it distracting would be putting it somewhat mildly. I take a deep, quiet breath and concentrate harder, trying to keep focused on her hand; an effort that is quickly made futile when she speaks suddenly, her voice soft and tentative.

"Hawke, when you asked me, before... about Mahariel being special to me, I mean... did you think maybe we were... together?"

I sit back up slowly to look at her face. Her expression is unusually serious as she studies me with a guarded sort of look. I knew I shouldn't have asked her that, it was far too personal. I hope I haven't upset her. "I admit; the way you spoke of her, it did cross my mind," I say, hastening to apologise. "I'm sorry; it was really none of my business to pry."

"No, no, that's not why I brought it up," she says, gesturing emphatically with her free hand. "I don't mind if you ask me questions like that, Hawke, really. But Mahariel and I were just friends, clan-sisters, it was nothing more."

I smile, feeling another surge of relief at her words, and then lower my head quickly, refocusing my attention on the cuts across her palm. "I wouldn't blame you if it had been more," I comment, trying to sound casual as I weave a spell of healing, ready to channel it into her wounds. "I mean, who could possibly compare with the Hero of Ferelden?"

"Someone even more amazing and wonderful," she says, so quietly I almost don't hear her. At least, I think that's what she said.

I glance at her, and she looks away hastily, gazing down at her hand where it lies between mine. I pause in the middle of my silent spell, studying her in concern. She seems to be breathing quite rapidly, all of a sudden. "Am I hurting you?" I ask worriedly.

Merrill starts, and glances up at me, wide-eyed. "Oh... no. No, Hawke. I just..." She closes her eyes and draws in a long, steadying breath, then meets my gaze, though a faint flush burns in her cheeks as she looks at me. "I wanted to ask... have you ever... um... you know... been with someone special?" she asks timidly, her inflection leaving no doubt as to what she means.

I blink at her foolishly, utterly floored by her inquiry. And I thought my question was personal. This, combined with her flirting, earlier... It seems I have yet to learn my lesson to expect the unexpected from her. At last, I manage to summon an answer. "Well, no. I mean, I've... been with people, once or twice back in Lothering when I was growing up, you know, but... no one special, no."

"Me neither," she says, and gives a small, nervous laugh as she ducks her head. "I've never even... I mean... I was always sort of... secluded, learning, studying magic and history with the Keeper, and most of my clan mates were too wary of my position as First to even talk to me, let alone... you know." She pauses, and her face falls a little. "Although, nobody here in the alienage wants to talk to me either, really. It could just be me, I suppose."

I shake my head vehemently. "No, it couldn't." I meet her eyes seriously. "I can't imagine someone more loveable than you."

She gazes back at me for a moment, an endearing smile spreading across her face, and she tilts her head at me adorably. "Well... I can think of someone," she offers shyly, giving me a meaningful look.

My pulse quickens at the expression in her eyes. I'm certain there's something there this time, but is it... is it really what I think? Or am I just wishing so hard I'm seeing things that aren't there? Maker, I wish I could be sure. I wish I could be brave enough to find out. But I'm afraid; afraid that I'm wrong; that I'll frighten her away, or even lose her friendship, and I couldn't stand that, I'd rather just be her friend than risk losing her completely. I drop my gaze back to her hand, and return my concentration to healing her. I'm such a coward.

"There," I say when I finish, rubbing my fingers gently over her skin. There's only the faintest trace of scars crossing her palm now, some of my best work. "All done."

Merrill smiles at me gratefully. "Thank you, lethallan." She pauses for a moment, and then looks at me with an impish expression. "Shall I give you your payment, then, for healing me? A kiss on the cheek? Or was it two kisses?"

I blink, and then laugh in delight as I grasp her reference. _She remembers that, after all this time? Maker's breath... _"I believe the price we settled on was four," I tease playfully.

Merrill giggles, then smiles shyly and squeezes my fingers a little, making me look down unconsciously at the gentle pressure of her newly mended hand. She bends forward to kiss me on the cheek, but I lift my head up toward her instinctively as I catch her sudden movement in the corner of my eye, and she misses, her lips pressing against the corner of my mouth instead. My breath hitches in my throat at the sweet shock of the contact, and she pulls back, her eyes blinking rapidly in surprise. I can't think of what to say, so I remain silent, and a little stunned, watching her, expecting a swift torrent of apologetic words to pour from her at any second, but she says nothing; she just stares at me, her eyes wide and dark, unreadable and beautiful, shining brightly in the flickering firelight.

And then she reaches for me, her slender arms curling around my neck as she leans in towards me again; I only have an instant to realise what is happening before her mouth meets mine and I'm swept away, hot tingling fire springing from the touch of her lips and racing through my whole body. I hesitate for just a moment, and then I fold her tightly in my arms, and return her kiss with everything I have, trying to show her everything I've always thought, always felt, but never had the courage to say aloud.

She smells warm, and earthy, and sweet. A sunlit forest glade of spring wildflowers. Her kiss is unsure, unpractised, but ardent, passionate, and yet, oh, so tender. Her lips are so soft. I never thought she'd want this, want me, not really. Maker, please let this be real. It has to be. It's too wonderful to be a dream. I pull her closer, losing myself in the scent of her dark hair, the taste of her on my lips, the feel of her in my arms, and my soul stirs, my heart sings, my spirit soars.

She always manages to surprise me.

* * *

><p>xxx M xxx<p>

* * *

><p><em>Mythal! <em>I meant to kiss her cheek, I did, I didn't mean to be so forward, but then she moved her head, and then my lips touched her mouth, just a little, and it was so nice, and now I can't help it. I can't hold myself back anymore, and I just react, my actions born of pure instinct, they must be, since I've no experience to speak of. My lips part slightly at the first touch of hers, and I wrap my arms around her neck, closing my eyes.

I'm kissing her. I'm kissing Hawke! What am I doing? Creators, I don't know what I'm doing! She must have noticed. I feel like such a fool, such a child. But... she hasn't pushed me away. Her arms are around me, stroking up and down my back, holding me tightly, pressing me against her, and she's returning my kiss. She's kissing me, too. She is!

Hawke's tongue glides lightly across my lips, and I open them wider without even thinking about it. Is that what I'm meant to do? Suddenly I feel her tongue moving against mine, _inside my mouth_ and I nearly pull away in shock before I realise how good it feels. I suppose Hawke knows what she's doing. It does feel good. Creators, but it does. Her hand slides slowly up to the back of my head, and she holds it tenderly, pressing her lips harder against mine. My heart races as her other hand wanders slowly down my tunic, along my spine, til it rests just above my hips and she pulls me closer, shifting a little on the bed and pressing me against her. I let her lead me; it must be so obvious that I don't know what to do, but she doesn't seem to mind at all. She leans forward, gently guiding my body back with her own as her hand cradles my head, her other arm supporting me as she lowers me to the bed, lying down beside me, drawing me into a deeper kiss.

My arms are still wrapped around her neck, fingers tangling in her hair. Hawke's hand moves from the small of my back to my side, and starts stroking slowly from my ribs down to my hips, and back again, just a soft, gentle caress that I can barely feel. Of course, I am still wearing my chainmail under my tunic, so that probably doesn't help. Even so, it's such... such an intimate touch, and I'm... I'm not... I'm not sure what to do, I mean, I do know a little about what I'm supposed to do, from Isabela's books, and her stories, but... I'm not sure if I can, I don't want Hawke to stop, but then again I do, a little bit, I mean, I've never done this before, what if I'm terrible? No, there's no 'what if'; I will be terrible, I'll be clumsy and awkward, and Hawke will be so disappointed...

A fretful whimper escapes me at the thought of disappointing Hawke, and she stops immediately, pulling back, leaving me feeling bereft at the sudden lack of contact. My eyes snap open in surprise, searching out her face worriedly. She is gazing at me with a nervous, almost frightened expression.

"Merrill? What's wrong? What did I do?" Hawke asks anxiously, raising herself up on her elbow to look at me.

My eyes widen at the fearful note in her voice, and I sit up a little too, watching her apprehensively. I've ruined everything, foolishly panicking and made her feel badly, already. I knew that I would! I shake my head forcefully, both at myself, and in response to her words. "Oh, no! You did nothing, Hawke, it's just me, I'm sorry, I've just..." I close my eyes, blushing in embarrassment. I can't meet her gaze. "I've never done this before."

"You've never kissed anyone?" she asks, her voice soft.

I shake my head again, still too shamed to look at her. "N-no, not... like this."

Hawke is silent for a moment, and then I feel her fingers touch my cheek, softly, making my eyes open, and I'm looking straight into her captivating gaze. I can't look away, now; she holds my eyes intently, determinedly, and her mouth curves in a small, lovely smile. "Well," she begins, her voice low, and rough and... and husky. Yes, that's the right word, I'm pretty sure. I like it very much indeed. "I have to say; so far you're very good at it."

I blink in surprise, and then blush furiously. _I am?_ _Really?_ "Oh... thank you! You are too, of course, wonderful, even. N-not that I would really know... but I'm sure you are, though! It felt wonderful to me, anyway, it's just..." My face grows even hotter as I watch her, waiting patiently for me to explain myself with that wonderful little smile gracing her lips. "I-I don't know that I'll be very good at doing anything... more. I mean, Isabela has shown me lots of things - in her dirty books, I mean!" I explain hastily as she narrows her eyes a little, suspiciously. "But seeing it in pictures and actually doing it are very different, and... I just-"

Hawke's eyes widen, and her mouth drops open slightly. She looks surprised, and a bit ashamed, in a shocked sort of way. She suddenly sits up completely, looking frightened and serious. "I wasn't going to... Oh, Merrill, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," she says frantically, moving back on the bed until her back hits the wall. She starts at the impact, and glances automatically over her shoulder for a moment, then blinks and looks at me earnestly, taking a deep breath to calm herself before she speaks. "I'm... well, I'm no expert on relationships, but I don't think the ones that jump straight from kissing to... to lovemaking are the ones that last," she says quietly, her tone sincere. "I would never push you to go faster than you're comfortable with."

I sit up, too, wanting to reassure her. "I know you wouldn't, Hawke, you're too good." Then my mind catches up with my ears, and I pause, studying her uncertainly. "Relationship?" I tilt my head, searching her eyes. "Are we... are we courting, now?" I ask hopefully.

She stares at me for a moment, and then a slow smile spreads across her face, and she tentatively moves a little closer. "Is that what you want?"

I bite my bottom lip, nodding shyly. Her smile grows wider, and her eyes sparkle, like stardust, like fire, like lightning. "Then that sounds perfect," she says quietly, her voice warm honey and sunshine. "Yes. I would love to court you, Merrill, if I may."

I smile and nod again even more quickly as my heart leaps in my chest. I'm so happy I can hardly draw breath to answer her. "Oh, yes, Hawke. I would like that, more than anything." I shift a little on the bed, closing the distance between us a bit. "Can I..." I falter shyly, trying to stop my voice from quivering nervously. "Can I kiss you again?"

Hawke gives a surprised, melodious laugh at my boldness, and her eyes shine. "You don't have to ask me." She lifts a hand, reaching out to slowly sweep the hair from my brow, tucking it behind my ear. How could I have missed the tenderness in that gesture, in her eyes, every time she's done it before? "It's too late to start with flowers and badly written poetry, I suppose," she adds with a smile. "Not that I have any objection; quite the opposite, in fact. Don't worry; I don't intend to do too much too quickly." She looks into my eyes knowingly, her voice becoming serious, but kind and sincere. "Merrill... it's alright to be scared, you know."

Scared of... of being intimate. That's what she means. I look down, tugging nervously at a loose thread in my worn old blanket. "I'm... not scared, exactly. Not really, anyway."

"I was, my first time," she says softly, seriously. I glance at her in wordless surprise. Hawke was scared? She sees my look, and shrugs a little. "It's only natural to be nervous about being so physically intimate with another person. And... I care for you too much to risk going too fast."

She cares for me. She said it. _Oh, Creators, thank you for granting me such a gift._ My heart flutters just like a little bird. "Isabela was right!"

"About what?" Hawke asks, tilting her head curiously at me. I feel my eyes widen. _Oh no, did I say that out loud_? Hawke watches my reaction, confusion plain on her face, and then realisation dawns in her eyes. "Wait... about this? You talked to Isabela about me?" I nod hesitantly, and she laughs. "Maker's breath, that's what made her behave that way today, isn't it?"

I smile in relief at her reaction; I thought maybe she'd be cross at me for causing Isabela to act how she did. Especially since it made her so uncomfortable. "Yes, I'm sorry, Hawke; that was my fault. I told her how much I care for you, and she said... she said she thought you adored me, too. She told me to try flirting with you, but I was too shy. Then she was trying to make me jealous so I would... take some initiative, and 'make a move' on you, is how she put it, anyway."

"Well, then," Hawke laughs. "It certainly worked, didn't it? I suppose I should thank her. I owe her a pint or two, now, at the very least." She gazes at me, and I shiver happily at the intensity of emotion blazing in her eyes. "And she was right; I absolutely adore you."

I breathe in sharply as her words wash over me, bathing me in warmth like the light of the sun. "I feel the same for you, Hawke," I tell her fervently.

"You have no idea how wonderful it is to hear you say that," she says, her face glowing with delight, and then she pulls me into her embrace, giving me the kiss I asked for, her lips capturing mine with tender sweetness, and it's just as wondrous as before, just as amazing, only I know a bit more of what to expect, now. And I've learned a little, too. I am quite a quick study. Her kiss is slower this time, soft and careful, and she holds me to her, her hands resting gently against my back. I let mine wander just a little, stroking down her spine as I slowly grow bolder, secure in the knowledge that it's alright, that she wants me to. That she feels for me what I feel for her.

Hawke pulls back, at length, and I slowly open my eyes, still reeling from the tingling touch of her lips against mine. She is gazing at me with an expression I've never seen before from anyone.

"You are so beautiful," she breathes, and I feel tears prick suddenly beneath my lashes. _Oh, Mythal._ No one has ever thought me beautiful before, or if they did somehow manage to, they didn't tell me so. I want to tell Hawke that she is beautiful, too, more than I could ever hope to be, but there's a lump in my throat, and the words get stuck, they won't come out. I can only stare at her in wonder and gratitude and disbelief, trying to show her what I feel without saying anything, whilst trying desperately to put voice to the words in my heart and speak.

She kisses my forehead softly before I can manage to, and then glances up at the ceiling. "I can see the stars through your roof," she says, and sighs. "I... I should go. I hope the street gangs aren't awake yet, although that's likely a vain wish; they do seem to rise with the moon." Hawke releases me slowly, reluctantly, and slides off the bed.

I hesitate, torn between what I know she should probably do and what I wish she would do, and then stand quickly, taking a gentle hold of her wrist. "Do you have to leave?"

She stops, and turns to look at me, her indecision showing clearly in her eyes. "I probably should, if I were inclined to be sensible. I will come back in the morning."

"It's just..." I begin, and then pause, searching for the right words. "It's very late, now. You shouldn't be walking all the way back to Hightown, not alone. You should..." I take a deep breath, summoning the courage to ask her for what I want. "You should just sleep here."

She raises an eyebrow, and I blush under her gaze. "It's alright, Merrill. I meant what I said. There's no need to rush things, not before you're ready."

I scratch at my head, trying to explain. "I didn't mean... not that I don't... it's just... you could stay, anyway, couldn't you?" I ask, looking at her pleadingly. "You could hold me, and we could fall asleep together, like... like that time before, three years ago. That was wonderful... And I thought, since you said you care for me, that it would be alright to ask."

"Mmm. That does sound nice," she muses, and then smiles wryly. "Although, you have no idea how hard it was for me to keep my hands off you, that night."

I blink in astonishment. "Really? You... you felt that way, even then?" She nods, and my heart swells. "I did too!" Then I pause, thinking. "Oh... that's probably not something to be excited about, is it? I mean, all this time we could have said something... we could have been..." I shake my head, smiling. "We are both such silly fools."

Hawke laughs, wonderfully. "We are, indeed." She smiles, drawing me close. "If that's what you want, then I'll stay with you. I'll behave myself, I promise. I want to go slowly, too." Hawke plants a gentle kiss on the top of my head. "You need to be sure, and comfortable. Since you haven't... I mean, since it would be, you know... your first time, and all..." I look up at her in surprise. She's stuttering and babbling, all of a sudden, just like I do. Coming from her, it's sort of... what's the right word? Cute? Hawke shrugs in a helpless manner, blushing furiously, and I bury my face against her chest to hide my smile. Oh, yes, it's very cute. "Well, it puts a lot of pressure on me to make it memorable... in a good way," she continues, smoothing a hand over my hair. "I want it to be right. Perfect."

"With you, how could it be otherwise?" I say quietly, and her arms tighten around me, holding me even closer. I close my eyes and lean into her embrace, my head against her heart, feeling safe, and warm, and joyful. I will owe Isabela forever for convincing me to show my feelings to Hawke, even if it was sort of an accident that I managed it. A wonderful one, though. Much better than the normal sort of accidents that happen to me. And to think, I meant to wait until the eluvian was finished to say anything to Hawke. This time, at least, I am absolutely joyful that I have managed to ruin my own plans so completely.

"Are you going to take this off, then?" Hawke asks suddenly, running a finger gently down the chainmail sheathing my arm. My eyes blink open and I glance up at her in a little consternation, suddenly nervous. She chuckles quietly at my expression. "It just doesn't look too comfortable to sleep in, that's all."

"Oh! Yes... I have night-time things," I say, reaching under my pillow for the soft shirt and loose cotton pants that I keep there to sleep in. I grab them, and turn to Hawke, frowning. "I don't think I have anything to give you to wear, though."

"I doubt if any... night-time things of yours would fit me," she smiles. "They'd be a mite too small, I think. These should do just fine, they're quite comfortable," she says, indicating the plain clothes she's wearing, the ones she bought in the market today. "I'll let you change, then." She winks at me, and lets me go, walking out of my room to sit by the fireplace and remove her boots, from what I can see through my doorway. I undo my chainmail as quickly as I can and change hurriedly, and then pull open the covers on my bed and sit down, calling to her softly. She comes back over, smiling, and sits next to me, folding me tenderly in her arms and lying down, pulling me gently with her. I pull the blanket over us, and settle into her embrace, laying my head against her chest, and sighing in utter joy and delight.

She raises her hand, palm up, and then makes a fist, whispering under her breath, and every candle in my house winks out abruptly, leaving only the gentle glow of embers from the hearth in the main room. I stare, marvelling at her control, and open my mouth to ask her what spell she used; then promptly forget all about it as she lets her cheek rest against the top of my head, making a small sound of contentment, and begins gently stroking her hand through my hair.

"If I wake up in the morning, and find this was all a dream, I'm going to be very upset," she comments quietly.

I giggle softly, and she laughs a little, too, pressing her lips against my forehead again as she does so. "It is no dream, Hawke," I whisper blissfully, listening to her muffled heartbeat through the soft fabric of her shirt.

"I don't really want to go to sleep. I want to stay awake forever, just like this," she says sleepily, and I can hear the peaceful smile in her voice as she speaks.

I smile as well, cuddling into her as close as I can. "So do I. But we must rest."

"Mmm. I suppose you're right," she sighs, her fingers combing gently through my hair one last time before she lowers her hand, reaching her arm beneath the blanket to drape it snugly around my waist. "Big day tomorrow, after all. Sweet dreams, Merrill." I feel her breathing slow, and deepen, and my rhythm matches hers as I sink into the velvet darkness, hearing the subtle call of the Beyond grow stronger, drifting towards the world of dreams and nightmares. The nightmares will not touch me tonight, though, not now, not with Hawke beside me. Before I succumb to the lure of sleep, I lift my head and gaze at her sleeping face for a moment, then lean down to kiss her mouth gently, careful not to wake her, revelling in the feel of her arms around me, the warmth of her body against mine, the knowledge that she cares for me too, as I care for her. The feeling is... indescribable. I lay my head back down softly against her heart, and close my eyes at last. _I will be with you soon, walking the dream paths of the Fade. I promise_. As sleep settles back in to claim me, I whisper into the darkness, just softly, though she will not hear me now; she is already there.

"Ma'arlath, Hawke... ma vhenan."


	11. Chapter 11

_Hi guys, sorry, I know it's been a while. I did my best. I wanted to write some of Merrill's companion quest, but it felt too rushed, and then it sort of turned into this chapter. Not a lot happens. I'm still working on advancing the story (and the romance) but it doesn't want to be written. SO it's taking a lot longer than I thought. Still fun, though!_

_Credit to RVOne for the idea to have Hawke sit her mother down for a little talk; she has been enjoying playing the noble Amell again far too much and being too controlling. She has her reasons, though._

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><p><strong>Chapter 11<strong>

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><p>xxx H xxx<p>

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><p><em>...The town looks just as I remember it; simple, rustic country houses nestled together in a sleepy little valley by a calm, quiet river. Trees and bushes dot the rolling hills surrounding the outskirts in a protective half-circle, with the grey raised stones of the Imperial Highway forming a stern defending wall at the edge of town. I sweep my gaze fondly over the idyllic scene below, sitting half upright with my back against the grand old tree on the hilltop high above the town, the Chantry below us and the windmill and the grain fields to the right, my legs stretched out over the cool green grass as Merrill leans against my side. My arm curls about her slender waist, pulling her against me, and I feel the warmth of her even here, in my dream. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remember wishing I didn't have to fall asleep; now I wonder why. This is perfect, wonderful. I could stay here forever. But my treacherous consciousness reaches out, drawing me away, leaving me torn between dream and reality and for the first time in my life, I am afraid to leave the dangers of the Fade dream; what if I wake and she's not there? It seems so real; the feel of her against me, but what if this is part of the dream too? The world flickers, the light blinks briefly into darkness...<em>

...and instead of the feel of soft grass beneath me I feel a hard, unyielding mattress; instead of the gentle touch of the sun on my skin I feel the course, rough fibres of a worn cotton blanket. But... I can still feel her beside me, against me, warming me, and it's as real there as it is here. My sleeping mind trembles, wavering between the warm presence in the dream and in truth...

_...and then the world suddenly brightens again as Lothering reappears, unbroken, unspoiled; just as I wish to keep it in my memory. I look at Merrill, smiling lovingly as I tighten my arm around her and raise my other hand, pointing to a small house right on the edge of the town, nestled snugly against the Highway wall beside a lush green meadow. Our old house; Mother, Father, Carver, Bethany and me; all squeezed in together in a warm, cosy little cottage, as far from the Chantry and its Templars as possible. The last place I truly thought of as home. Merrill looks up at me, smiling sweetly, and a feeling of pure joy courses through me, suffusing my entire being. She is my home now. Wherever we are. The wavering misty half-light of the Fade curls around us, tiny golden beams of dancing light setting off the forest green of her eyes, and they draw me into their depths, keeping me firmly here on our shared dream path, just a little longer. We have met no danger here tonight, no shades or demons seeking out our sleeping minds. They've left us alone completely. We are stronger together, it seems. I smile at her again, and then lift my head as the landscape suddenly shifts; houses becoming tall, magnificent trees; chickens, dogs and oxen replaced by songbirds, squirrels, and beautiful creatures like white stags, with twisting, curling antlers. Are they... halla? I've never seen one this close before, but they must be. They are utterly lovely; majestic and mystical, with a gleam of intelligence in their dark liquid eyes... _

...In another world I am half aware of the rosy dawn light shining through the gaps in the ceiling, small pricks of sunlight shoving their way determinedly beneath my eyelids, compelling me to wake, becoming more and more persistent as I struggle to cling to the dream. Merrill's dream. It's so beautiful. Just as she is. I win the battle, sinking back down, away from the light of day, back to the trees and the birdsong, and...

_...Merrill stands and takes my hand, pulling me with her, her fingers intertwining with mine as we walk slowly through the trees. I gaze about in wonder. The Fade offers only a pale reflection of the waking world; the Brecilian Forest must be beautiful indeed, if the truth behind the Fade's echo surpasses the beauty of this dreamscape. The trees tower above us, limbs stretching as though in glorious exaltation toward the blue sky above, leaves dappled green and gold in the bright sunlight. The tiny songbirds that flit between the branches like winged jewels sing joyfully as they dart about us, their music accompanied by a sweet counterpoint from the soft, melodious splashing of a small clear stream. Merrill leads me to the edge of the water, leaping nimbly onto a fallen tree trunk spanning the breadth of the brook, laughing as she beckons me to follow, walking across the log and bounding to the opposite bank with an easy, catlike grace. She seems so sure of herself, so much more at home in this place, even if it is but a dream. I smile, and climb up to cross after her as best I can, though I cannot match her graceful movements. I spent many of my childhood years roaming and playing in the woods surrounding Lothering, but Merrill is elven, a child of the Dalish; I can't begin to compare to the grace and skill of one who grew up wandering barefoot through the forests of Ferelden and the untamed woods of the Korcari Wilds. Merrill takes my hand again as I reach the other side, leading me up a small hill, and then she stops, pointing down into the little tree-filled valley below us. I look down, peering through the trees, wondering what she's trying to show me, and then I blink in awe and amazement as the trees themselves begin to move; gliding across the earth in a slow, graceful dance, twining and twirling elegantly about each other, for all the world like tall, leafy nobles at a Hightown ball. Sylvans! I laugh in child-like wonder, gazing in delight at the scene below us, hearing Merrill's pleased giggle at my exuberant joy. Suddenly I feel my mind pull harder, and know I cannot fight it any longer. I am waking. I turn to Merrill to warn her, but the world dissolves, my hand fading from hers as my spirit flees the Fade..._

... and I open my eyes to the morning light, blinking sleepily, my mind slowly readapting to reality as I struggle to clear my sleep fogged thoughts. She was there, in my dreams. She was. Not a reflection, or a memory, or a wish, but her, really her, showing me places and things I've never seen, things that the Fade could never have pulled from my mind. Those memories must have been hers. What happened last night... it was real, it has to be; I won't be able to take it if it was simply another wishful dream.

My eyes open completely, and I gaze around, slowly focusing on my surroundings. Rough wooden walls in a small, sparse room, a slightly sagging clay-tiled roof above, with dawn sunlight shining merrily through the many holes... This is definitely not the estate. I'm... I'm in Merrill's house, in her room. In her bed. With her. I truly am. I feel a slight weight on my chest, and a warm body against my side, in my arms, and I tighten my hold to convince myself that she won't disappear, she won't fade away. I look down hesitantly and see a mussed tangle of short braided hair, the pointed tip of an ear poking adorably through the raven strands. She's there. She's really there, her body pressed to mine, her head still resting on my chest just where it was when I fell asleep; her small hand clutching a fistful of my shirt, over my heart.

It wasn't a dream. _Oh, thank the Maker._ A wide, happy smile curves my lips, and I draw my arm from beneath the blanket, lifting my hand gently to her sleeping face, fingertips stroking softly along her cheek as I gaze in awe at her ethereal beauty. She stirs at my touch, giving a tiny sigh, and her eyes open little by little, blinking dreamily as they focus slowly on mine. She gazes at me almost dazedly for a moment, then draws in a deep breath, almost a gasp, and her eyes widen, her lips parted slightly as though in surprise.

"Hello," I say softly, smiling down at her.

"Hawke," she whispers, and then a sweet, glorious smile breaks across her lovely features in return as she lets out a delightful giggle. "It's you, you're... you're here, with me. You really are!" Her eyes sparkle with wonder and joy as she gazes up at me, but then her smile fades suddenly, and she lifts her head to examine my face more closely, a worried expression creeping over her own. "You are, aren't you? I'm not still dreaming, am I?"

She's having as much trouble believing it as I did, it seems. No point in telling her I questioned it myself, though; that would hardly help to convince her. "You're the one who told me this wasn't a dream, remember," I remind her affectionately, sitting up a little and raising my hand to the tiny worried crease between her brows, running the pad of my thumb over it, smoothing it away. "Not reconsidering your position, are you? I'm real, I promise."

Her smile returns, though it's a little more hesitant than before. "I just... I still can't really believe it. You're really here!" Her smile slips a little, and she frowns again anxiously. "Although, if you were a dream, you'd probably tell me you were real and not a dream at all, wouldn't you, because that's what I would want you to say, and so how can I really be sure-"

I lean forward quickly and kiss her, effectively halting her nervous rambling and giving her undeniable proof of my corporeality. She makes a muffled noise as my mouth meets hers, and for a moment I'm half convinced she'll try to keep talking. But she falls silent and accepts the kiss, then surprises me by suddenly returning it more fiercely and taking control, pressing my head back down against the pillow almost forcefully with the strength of her ardour as she leans over me. She pulls back a little, gazing at me wide-eyed, apparently a little surprised at herself, and then closes her eyes and leans down again more slowly, gently brushing her soft lips against mine again and again, sweet little touches that make my heart race just as fast as the passionate kiss she gave me a moment ago. I raise my hand to touch her hair, marvelling at its silky feel, closing my eyes as I return her gentle kisses with all the tenderness I possess.

Finally she leans down again on more time, letting her lips linger, drawing out the contact, the feel of her mouth on mine so sweet and wonderful I have to remind myself to breathe. I stroke my fingers along the rim of her ear, then let my fingertips run lightly over the skin of her slender neck, just below the junction of throat and delicate earlobe. She trembles against me as I do so, an involuntary little shiver of pleasure running through her body, and she breaks the kiss with a small, delightful gasp. I smile to myself; it seems I've discovered a sensitive place. How very interesting. I must remember that.

"Convinced?" I ask, gazing up into her sweet face as her eyes slowly flicker open.

"Yes," Merrill breathes, her voice hushed with quiet wonder, then she sits up slowly on the bed, her eyes locked on mine, as though afraid to look away from me in case I disappear. It seems a little further reassurance is in order. I rise as well, throwing the blanket aside and wrapping my arms lightly around her waist, causing her to giggle happily and twist a little, moving closer to me so she can throw her arms about my neck and plant another tender kiss on my lips. _Well. She's certainly grown bolder since last night, that's for certain. _She tilts her head a little, cupping her hand against the back of my head and pressing me into her, and I feel the darting tip of her tongue across my lips as her mouth opens ever so slightly. My heart skips in thrilled surprise. _Bolder, indeed_. I respond to her wordless suggestion and allow her greater access, letting her deepen the kiss at her own pace. I moved too quickly last night and let myself get carried away; I won't scare her like that again. Whatever happens between us; every step will be her choice. I will make certain of that this time. I let my fingers find that little place on her throat again, stroking gently, and she hums with pleasure as another little tremor runs through her. I smile into her kiss, filled with fascination and delight that my touch elicits such a response from her.

Eventually she draws back, and I have to suppress a petulant whimper, reluctant to let her lips leave mine. I slowly open my eyes to find her gazing at me with a slightly apprehensive look, and suddenly a small knot of anxiety starts to form in my stomach at her expression. I watch her nervously. _What's wrong? I didn't think that was too fast, was I mistaken?_

Fortunately, I don't have long to fret.

"Did I do that right?" she asks in a small voice, revealing the source of her concern as her eyes searching mine worriedly.

So that's what's bothering her. It's not anything that I've done, thank the Maker. I sigh inwardly with relief, though my heart clenches a little at the fearful look in her eyes. She's bolder, but somehow still so doubtful, so uncertain. Well, I'll just have to do my best to fix that, won't I?

I tighten my arms about her waist, nodding slowly as I hold her gaze. "Oh, yes," I say fervently, my voice low and intense with the strength of my conviction. "Absolutely."

She giggles, and looks down, suddenly shy, a burning blush covering her cheeks and spreading all the way to the pointed tips of her ears, which I make note of in utter fascination. "Oh, good. I'm glad. I thought I was doing alright, at least, I tried to do what you showed me last night, with that... that thing you did... you know... with your tongue."

I make a sound of appreciation deep in my throat, smiling widely. "Mmm. I noticed." I cock my head to the side, regarding her in mock-thoughtfulness. "Are you sure you haven't done this before?" I tease gently.

She shakes her head slightly; worry clear in her eyes, and opens her mouth, probably to tell me in an adorably rambling flow of hurried words that she really hasn't; that she was telling the truth, she was, really! I give my head a mental shake; she still has a tendency to take my words far too literally, I keep forgetting that. I hold up a finger quickly, touching it gently to her lips before she can speak.

"Because that was perfect," I tell her seriously. Or at least, in as serious a tone as I can currently manage. I find it's hard to sound serious whilst wearing a foolish, giddy smile from ear-to ear, like I am right now. "Just... wonderful."

She giggles again, blushing, and smiles back at me before leaning forward a little, pressing her forehead against mine, gazing into my eyes. "I'm pleased you liked it."

I smile even wider if possible, nuzzling her nose affectionately as I gaze back at her, losing myself in those beautiful deep green pools of light. "Oh, I did indeed. Very much."

We stay like that for a few moments, marvelling at seeing our own blissful expressions mirrored in each others' eyes, and then Merrill pulls away, sitting up straighter as her face grows worried again. Maker, how can she go through so many mood changes so quickly? It's making me dizzy, not to mention a little anxious. She rubs her hand through her hair, the way she does when she's nervous. Or when she wants to ask me a charmingly awkward question. Or both. I loosen my hold on her a little so I can lean back to watch her face, waiting patiently for her to overcome her shyness.

She drops her hand suddenly, twisting her fingers together in her lap, and then looks up at me timidly. "So... what do we do now?"

I gaze at her silently for a moment, blinking back a look of bewilderment. Is that all? Why was she nervous about asking me that? Unless she was just worried I'd be upset that she's being practical. She needn't worry; I suppose we do have to start thinking about what needs to be done today, after all. One of us has to be sensible. I sigh regretfully. As appealing as it would be to simply stay here with her, the business of the day awaits. And I did promise to go with her to see the Keeper. "We get up, I suppose."

She blinks, looking confused. "We... oh, yes, we probably should do that too, but... that wasn't really what I meant."

It wasn't? I feel a puzzled frown cross my own features, my expression still mirroring hers. "What did you mean, then?"

Merrill bites her lip in consternation, lowering her head as her delicate brows come together in thoughtful concentration, evidently searching for the right words to express herself. "What... what happens now, with us?" she asks after a moment, and rubs nervously at her head again, before she lifts her gaze to my face. "With... with us... courting, I mean? I don't really know what should happen, I've... I've never done this before, not even among my own people, but... oh, but I told you that already, didn't I?" She ducks her head, shaking it slightly before looking back up at me beseechingly. "I'm sorry, it's just... I don't really know what is supposed to happen, now."

_Ah. I see._ I feel a wide grin spreading across my face at the term she's chosen to refer to our budding relationship. _Courting. Maker, she's adorable._

I smooth my features, trying to organise my thoughts enough to give her an answer. This is unfamiliar territory for me too, and I feel the need to move carefully, delicately. What we have is still so new, so fragile. Whatever happens, I don't want to do anything to ruin it. I have to say this right. I look into her eyes, feeling a familiar jolt through my heart as I gaze into their shining emerald depths, and for the second time this morning I find myself unable to remember how to breathe. Perhaps I should take to carrying notes to refer to, just in case; at least when I'm around her.

After a moment I recall how to make my lungs work, and I draw a deep breath, concentrating on the words I want to say to her. I meet her eyes again. "Now, we move forward, as fast or slow as you feel is right for you. This..." I hesitate for a fraction of a second to suppress an amused smile, "...courting... is new for me too, and so... I really have no expectations on what should happen, myself. But I want you to know..."

I pause briefly, and then slowly lean in toward her, very gently pressing my lips to hers in a small, sweet kiss. She closes her eyes, responding eagerly, and I pull back gently after a moment, smiling at her as her eyes slowly open again, meeting mine with unrestrained joy. I hold her gaze seriously, my voice filling with sincerity as I reach over to take her hand. "You never have to worry about me, Merrill. Whatever happens, I want you to feel comfortable and certain. Safe." I press my fingers into her palm, feeling a renewed surge of joy and affection as I look at her; so pure, so beautiful. "Just know that I am wonderfully happy simply to be near you."

She looks at me, eyes shining, and her mouth trembles. "Oh, Hawke..." She leans forward and hugs me, burying her face against my shoulder. "I always feel safe with you, ma vhenan."

I blink at her use of the unfamiliar elven words. I don't think I've heard her say that before, not that particular phrase anyway. Not that I'd really know, of course; the only elven word I know is 'shemlen'. I think I know what that means, or I ought to by now; I hear it often enough from the elves around Kirkwall, even the alienage elves. Aveline told me it was a racial slur for humans; the equivalent of 'knife ear', I suppose. At least whenever some idiot calls them that stupid name, they have something to strike back with.

I shake my head a little at myself; what am I doing getting distracted with thoughts like that when I have Merrill in my arms? I smile at my foolishness and run my hand down her back a little, stroking gently, enjoying her warmth. She's always so warm; warmer than I am, than most humans, come to think of it. At least in my experience. Perhaps elven blood runs hotter than ours? I can't say I've really been this close to either humans or elves enough times to be able to be sure, but if so, I wonder why that could be? It's intriguing. _Or perhaps..._ I let my hand rest gently on the back of her neck, fingers gently caressing her soft, warm skin, and she sighs, pressing her head more firmly against me. _Perhaps it's just her._

"We really should get up though," I remind her reluctantly after a few moments. "The sun is quite bright; it must be mid-morning already. Would you still like to go to Sundermount today?"

She sits up slowly to look at me, nodding. That worried look is back in her eyes again. She really is anxious about it. "I don't know if I'd say it's something I'd like to do, exactly, but yes, if we could go and do that, get it out of the way, I would be grateful." She pauses, a thought apparently occurring to her. "I think we might need another person to help us, though. The Keeper is not likely to simply give me the arulin'holm." Her face falls a little, traces of sorrow and resentment suffusing her lilting voice as she shakes her head angrily. "She does not want to help me fix the eluvian, after all, so she'll probably ask me to do a task for her in order to earn it, and she will try her best to make it something impossible, to make certain I can't complete it."

I bite the inside of my cheek, feeling suddenly uneasy. This is starting to sound like it may take longer than I thought. "That seems excessive, not to mention a bit sneaky, really," I comment lightly, trying to disguise my concerns. 'What sort of monumental task are we talking about?"

"I... I don't know, exactly," Merrill says, frowning, a slight note of worry coming into her tone. She looks up at me, and her expression suddenly clears as she smiles into my eyes. "But whatever it is she comes up with, I know we won't fail. We can't. Not if you're there, Hawke." _Oh, Merrill_. I feel a warm glow in my chest at the earnest faith in her voice. "But still, it would be nice if we had a bit of help," she continues thoughtfully before I can say anything. "Maybe Isabela, or Varric? They won't mind helping me with this, not like Anders or Fenris. And I don't really know that Sebastian fellow very well yet; so far both times I talked to him, he just tried to get me to turn to the light of Andraste and the Maker, so I don't really think he'd be very supportive of doing a favour for a... a 'maleficar', somehow," she says, pronouncing the unfamiliar Imperial word with deliberate care.

I laugh quietly at that. "You're probably right. He seems an alright sort so far, though I've only met with him a couple of times myself. But yes, I don't think he'd be particularly keen. And after all, we wouldn't want him to risk getting his nice shiny armour all dirty, would we?" I pause, considering our remaining options. No one left, really, except Aveline, although I think she's on duty this morning unfortunately, doing important Guard-Captainy things around the city. Which will probably make it somewhat difficult for her to go traipsing up and down mountains with us; meaning she's off the hook, for today at least. It's a shame; Aveline might not truly approve of Merrill's blood magic any more than I do, if I'm honest with myself, but at least she won't give Merrill grief about it. I nod decisively. "Isabela or Varric it is then, or possibly both, if they're available."

I stand and stretch, hearing the oddly satisfying little cracks of tautening muscle and tendon as I raise my arms, my fingers almost brushing against a particularly saggy place in Merrill's ceiling. Maybe I should hire someone to come here and fix up her place a bit; and some of the other buildings in the alienage too if anyone wants it. Maker knows I've coin enough. Although, perhaps I should ask Merrill if she thinks that would be a good idea first; I don't want to injure anyone's pride. I look over at Merrill and abruptly lose my train of thought completely as I find her bending over to make her bed, affording me a very pleasant view in the process. I stand still, watching appreciatively as she leans over further to tuck her blanket in against the wall, and then feel a fierce blush creep over my cheeks as she suddenly turns her head to look at me. _Caught._ She blinks in surprise, and then gives me a bashful but slightly pleased little smile, and straightens, a little slower than strictly necessary. I rub at my neck, somewhat embarrassed that she caught me staring at her like that. Although she didn't seem to mind...

_Alright, snap out of it. Things to do. Yes. Busy day. Busy, busy day._

I cast about for something to say to alleviate my mortification a little and look down, abruptly noticing the unfortunate state of my clothing; the fabric hopelessly crushed and creased after spending the night being slept in. I sigh regretfully. "I'd better go home and freshen up," I say, pulling uncomfortably at my wrinkled shirt. "And let Mother know I'm alive too, I suppose. She'll probably have a fit if she sees me with my clothes in this state." I sigh again as I picture her reaction if she sees me walking through Hightown like this. _What a scandal it would be if the neighbours saw me in such a state of disarray. _

I blink suddenly in confusion as I register the thought. Where did that come from? Since when do I care for their opinions? Personally, I think anyone who decides whether or not they should pretend to like you based on your fashion choices is a waste of clean air, so why in the Maker's name am I suddenly so worried about what they think now? I shake my head slightly in annoyance. It must be Mother's influence. I'm finding it difficult to reconcile the memory of the modest village woman who was perfectly comfortable going about her simple business wearing homespun dresses and sensible shoes with this noble matron who wears purple Orlesian silk and sequined slippers, and who becomes anxious about what the neighbours will think if a single hair is out of place, be it on her head or mine. She never wanted that sort of life back before we were forced to come here to Kirkwall, or at least she always seemed to be content with what we had. Surely she can't have been like this as a girl?

I pause, thinking. Maybe she is simply becoming absorbed in her new life as a way to fill the void left by everything she's lost these past few years. I feel a sad frown cross my features at that thought; she's lost so much. I understand her behaviour in this light, but I have suffered the same losses and I can't live the way she's trying to get me to. I could never be happy in that kind of life. I think it's time I had a proper talk with her.

I notice Merrill gazing at me with a worried expression, and I shake myself out of my serious thoughts to smile at her reassuringly. I will worry about it another time. I move over to sit by the fireplace, picking up my boots from the floor where I left them last night. She follows me into the room, and I look up at her as I pull them on. "Shall I meet you back at the Hanged Man?"

She nods, although her expression hasn't changed much. She seems a little absent, in fact. I can't account for this most recent odd change in mood, but it has me a little worried. Is she truly this worried about speaking to Marethari again? I frown in concern, tilting my head as I watch her.

"Merrill? Is something wrong?"

She blinks, startled, and looks at me with her lower lip caught between her teeth. "Oh... it's nothing, really, Hawke, only... did you mean it, what you said last night?"

I smile wryly before I can help myself; I think I might need just a little than that to go on in order to answer her question, somehow. "You may have to narrow it down a little. I said quite a few things."

She looks down for a moment, brushing a hand through her hair, and then meets my gaze hesitantly, taking a deep breath. "Do you... do you really think I'm... beautiful?"

I sit perfectly still for a moment, wondering at the disbelief and incredulity in her voice. _Maker, how can she doubt it? _I'm finding it a little hard to process. "Of course I do," I say quietly. "Why would I say it, if it wasn't true?" She shrugs a little, looking down, and I feel my heart constrict, watching her downcast expression. She... she really doesn't believe it. She doesn't believe I could find her beautiful, I just don't understand that. How can she not see just what she's worth, how could anyone not? I study her silently, taking in her compassionate leaf-green eyes, her delicate alabaster skin, feeling my pulse quicken as I let my gaze linger on her sweet, rosebud mouth, and then I rise slowly, walking back over to her and taking her hands in mine, searching out her eyes and holding them, determined to say this right and put her mind at ease.

"Merrill," I begin softly, making sure I own her complete attention. She clearly needs to hear this as much as I need to say it to her. "You are without question the most beautiful woman I've ever known, inside and out. Just looking at you makes my heart... well, feel." I lift her hand and place it on my chest just inside the open collar of my shirt, letting her feel how fast it's beating, watching delightedly as a fierce blush spreads over her porcelain skin, accentuating her high cheekbones. "You're not only utterly captivating, you're also good, and compassionate, and kind; even to people who show you nothing but scorn and derision." _Like Fenris, or Anders. Not to mention your own clan._ "You're brave, and sweet, and you always place the well being of others far above your own, even people you've never even met. I'd love to spend some more time telling you just how wonderful you are, but... well, I'm not sure that words could ever be sufficient." I take her gently into my arms, my eyes not leaving hers, willing her to believe it, to believe me. "To put it simply; yes. You are beautiful, Merrill, more than anyone I've ever had the privilege to know. So please..." I lower my head, capturing her lips with mine in a soft, tender kiss. "Don't ever doubt that."

Merrill smiles at me with joy and gratitude, and her eyes are shining again, as though with unshed tears. She rests her head against my chest with a muffled, almost tearful laugh. "Ma vhenan," she whispers again softly, pressing her palm more firmly against me where it still rests over my heart. Those words again. I wrap my arms more tightly around her and hold her close, wondering what it means. I have half a mind to ask her, but I don't really want to spoil the moment. I'm sure it means something nice in elven, and that's good enough for me right now. I frown slightly, recalling again the disbelieving expression I saw in her eyes. I thought I noticed the same look there last night; the first time I told her how beautiful she is. I just can't fathom it. Why would I have said it if I didn't feel it myself? That she has no concept of her own beauty is just yet another aspect of her charm, I know, and yet... I can't help but be surprised by the strength of her reaction, her disbelief. I can see I will have to dedicate some time to making her see it for herself. I smile to myself at that thought, my mind already filling with delightful thoughts on all the different ways I can show her just how I feel. No harm in starting now.

I kiss the top of her head gently, stroking my hand lightly over her back. "Feel better?"

She nods without lifting her head, not letting go of me. If anything she clings tighter. "Yes," she whispers. "You always make me feel better, Hawke."

I smile at that. "Glad to hear it. I try." I hold her for a few moments more, and then gently pull away, conscious of the morning rapidly slipping away from us. "We'd better get a move on if we're going to get this tool of yours from the Keeper today."

Merrill nods again, her eyes growing a little wider. "Oh... y-yes. You're right, of course. We should go."

The anxious little tremor in her voice does not escape my notice, and I smile reassuringly at her, reaching out a hand to sweep an errant lock of hair out of her face. "Don't be nervous. I'll be with you, remember? It'll be alright, you'll see."

She leans into my hand, beaming at me. "Thank you, Hawke," she says gratefully, and then gives a little sigh and steps back, gesturing vaguely in the direction of her room. "I'd best get ready then, I suppose."

I nod, lowering my hand with extreme reluctance, and take a couple of slow steps backwards towards the door, wishing I could just stay a little longer. I really don't want to leave her. "Alright," I agree, my unwillingness clearly showing in my voice."I'll meet you at the Hanged Man later, then."

I smile at her as she gives me a shy little wave, biting her lip with a reluctant expression of her own, and then she disappears slowly down the hall to her small washroom to freshen up. I have to force myself to step outside, closing her door softly behind me and ignoring the stares of the elves as I walk through the square, not caring what it must look like to them as I leave Merrill's house in the same clothes I wore last night. I mount the steps out of the alienage, and start tracing a lonely path back to Hightown, planning my next moves out in my mind as I pace briskly along. The sooner I get myself cleaned up, the sooner I can get back to Merrill. If I'm quick and clever enough, maybe I can even get myself inside without attracting Mother's notice and avoid another well intentioned motherly lecture of the dangers of being out at night on my own. Not to mention the fuss she'll make over my appearance. I sigh as I picture that unpleasant scene. Such a confrontation would undoubtedly provide me with the perfect opportunity to instigate the talk I plan to have with Mother, but I would prefer it if it didn't happen this morning; Maker only knows how long such a conversation might go for, and I'd much rather help Merrill with her task first. The sooner we start out for Sundermount, the better. I shield my eyes, squinting against the harsh morning sun as I gaze up towards the shining walls of Hightown, fighting a sudden urge to drag my feet as I reach the base of the stairway and reluctantly begin to climb. Well, let's just hope the Maker has decided to look kindly on all his creations this morning, even apostates who defiantly mock his godly law by daring to want freedom. I could certainly use a bit of divine favour, for once.

* * *

><p>No such bloody luck.<p>

"Ah, it's good to see you this morning, Messere! Have you been out all night? My boy and I were quite worried about you!"

I groan inwardly as Bodahn's voice echoes loudly through the estate. The Maker has a sense of humour, it seems. Bloody flames, but I wish this place had a back door. Maybe I should have gone through the old Darktown entrance, although it's all safely shut up now. Which is why it didn't occur to me earlier, I suppose. I wish I'd taken up Isabela's offer to teach me how to pick locks; then maybe I'd have considered it as an option before this. Much too late now, unfortunately.

"Bodahn, is that my daughter?" Mother's voice rings through the stone walled hall of the entranceway, and I cringe slightly at her the mix of worry, relief, and reprove in her tone.

"Yes, Mistress Amell, she's in the entrance hall. Only just came home, it seems!"

An audible sigh escapes me this time and I rub at my forehead, suppressing my annoyance. He didn't mean any harm, after all. Just doing his self-imposed duty. "Thank you, Bodahn; that will be all." He smiles his good-natured smile and bows deeply. I wish he wouldn't do that; it makes me very uncomfortable. My dog suddenly appears in the doorway, his stubby tail wagging furiously as he sees me and rushes over, jumping around me as he lets out a series of loud, happy barks. I smile and lean down to scratch him behind his ear before straightening, nodding absently to Bodahn as I move over to the open doorway. I step through into the parlour hesitantly and see Mother rising from her chair by the fire as my faithful hound trots happily over to her, curling up on the rug with a contented canine sigh. Mother steps delicately around him and strides over to me quickly, the chilling look of anger on her face completely at odds with her actions as she folds me into a crushing hug, holding me tightly.

"Oh, thank the Maker. I was so worried! Where have you been? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Mother," I reply, patting her back in reassurance, nimbly sidestepping her first question by answering the second; the one with the less awkward answer. I return her fierce hug, trying to reassure her, though I do feel a little annoyed. It was only one night after all, and it isn't like I can't take care of myself. There's no need for her to be so worried. I laugh at myself a little as I hear my own thoughts. Maker, I sound like Carver. I suppose he must have felt the same way about being mothered like this. _Oh, dear brother, I think I understand you a little better now._

She steps out of the hug and leans back, her hands gripping my shoulders as she looks me up and down, a disapproving frown forming on her face. I sigh under my breath. _Here we go..._ "By the Maker, look at the state of you! Just look at your hair! You look as though you slept in a barn." Her frown deepens, and she plucks disdainfully at my shirt. "And what are you wearing? What happened to the clothes you wore to meet with the Viscount?"

I blink in startled surprise, realising I have absolutely no idea. "Uh..."

Perhaps I left them in Isabela's rooms at the Hanged Man? I doubt if I'll ever see them again, if so; she could hardly have failed to recognise their value, and she would freely interpret my leaving them there as a sign that she could have them. Not that I would mind in the least if she got rid of those pretentious rags for me. I hope she gets some good coin out of it.

Mother shakes her head at my reticent silence. "I suppose you got into some sort of trouble with your friends again, got yourself covered in blood and ruined them, is that it?"

"Um... yes." That excuse works well enough. I meet her eyes, resisting the urge to hang my head in contrition and scuff my foot ruefully against the floor, like a youngster scolded for playing in the dirt. "I'm sorry, Mother." Maker, how can she still make me feel like an unruly child?

She sighs, shaking her head a little. "It doesn't matter, love. As long as you're alright. We can always order another set from Jean-Luc, he has your measurements, after all. But I do wish you hadn't come in the front door looking like that. What if someone saw you? The Arenbergs are dreadful gossips. Just think of the damage to your reputation!"

This time I barely manage to suppress a frustrated groan. _To the Void with my Maker damned 'reputation'._ "I'm certain no one saw me, don't worry."

"Good," she says firmly, and abruptly takes my arm in hers, guiding me over to the stairs up the bedchamber wing. I stumble a little before I manage to match her brisk pace. "Now, I think we'd better get you freshened up, and dressed in something a little more respectable. Come along, and I'll help you pick something out before we draw you a bath. You do remember we have a garden party at the Compte de Launcet's mansion to attend this afternoon, don't you?"

My heart sinks; I had completely forgotten. Or perhaps blocked it out. I feel my resolve strengthen; I've had about enough of these ridiculous parties. As much as I wished to avoid it earlier, I am afraid it might be time to have that talk now. "Actually, Mother, I-"

But she doesn't hear me; she keeps talking right over the top of my protests. "I hear Lady Harimann will be there, as well as both of her sons. I haven't met either of them, but I'm sure you'd get along. The Harimanns are a highly respected noble family, you know. One of the oldest in Kirkwall, in fact."

"Mother-"

"And Dulci de Launcet hinted that Saemus Dumar, the Viscount's boy, might even make an appearance," she continues, the excitement clear in her refined, gentle voice. "Now, wouldn't that be something! You've met him before, haven't you? You rescued him from kidnappers on the Wounded Coast a few years ago, if I remember correctly?"

I blink, momentarily distracted by this apparent change in topic. "That's debateable. I'm not certain he was ever in any real danger."

She pats my arm as we start up the stairs. "Still, it makes for quite a connection between you both. I'm certain he's grateful to you, even a little enamoured, I believe, or so goes the gossip in the Viscount's court. We could work with that, you know." I bite my tongue against the irritated growl that threatens to burst from my lips. _Not so off-topic after all, then._ "He seems a fine young man, does he not? So handsome. And to think," Mother muses as she leads me past her room, "one day, he will be Viscount. Imagine; my daughter, the Viscountess of Kirkwall..."

This is going too far. I stop walking abruptly, halting at the top of the landing by the door to my bedroom. "Mother, please! Stop this. I am not interested in marrying any nobleman's son, no matter how nice or handsome or... or well connected you think he might be."

She looks at me calmly at my outburst, the patient, loving look on her face not making this any easier. "I know you don't like me meddling in your affairs, sweetheart, but trust me. I can help you to make a respectable marriage. You're of a good age for it now, after all, you really should be thinking about it. I want to see you happily settled; with security and a family." She turns and walks into my bedroom, opening the door to my wardrobe and perusing the contents with a critical eye, looking for something decently noble. I haven't the heart to tell her it's a pointless search.

I follow after her, determined not to be put off. "But that isn't the kind of family or happiness I want. It isn't the kind of life I want."

"You deserve a good match," she says over her shoulder as she picks out a blue silk tunic from the clothing rack inside the closet door. She peers at it thoughtfully for a moment, lips pursed in contemplation, and then shakes her head abruptly and puts it back. "And I am determined to give you all that you are due as the scion of the Amells."

"I'm a Hawke," I remind her, my voice a little harder then I intended. "And proud of it."

She waves a hand dismissively. "You are as much an Amell as you are a Hawke; even more so in the eyes of the nobility here. You're beautiful, intelligent and capable; any young nobleman in Kirkwall would be fortunate indeed to call himself your husband."

I sigh in exasperation. "What if I don't want a husband? Mother, I've seen all the so called 'noblemen' in this town, and I can hardly see how most of them are in any way deserving of the title. It's a contradiction in terms when applied to the majority of them; and to be fair, that goes for the noble ladies too. You can't seriously believe I could ever love any of them, can you?"

Mother glances back at me, giving me a measured look. "Love isn't necessarily the most essential aspect of a good marriage," she says quietly after a minute.

I gape at her incredulously. _What?_ I never thought I'd hear something like that from her, of all people. I shake my head slowly, still staring at her in utter disbelief. "How can you say that? You always said love is more important than money, more important than anything! What about you and Father?"

She pauses in her examination of a black silk shirt, and stands completely still, the moments dragging out slowly as she remains silent and unmoving, and then she suddenly gives a deep, sad sigh. "I loved your father dearly. And I was happy enough with the life he provided for us. But when he... when he died, and you had to take responsibility for the family..." She looks at me briefly and then away, a pained expression on her face. "Oh, sweetheart, I know how hard it was for you to take care of us all; especially when we had to come here and Gamlen sold you into servitude under that dreadful mercenary thug. I know you had to do such terrible things, working for him."

My eyes widen, and my mouth drops open a little; I had thought I had kept her from hearing the worst of all that sordid business with the Red Iron mercenaries. Evidently I wasn't careful enough. I shudder involuntarily, thinking back to my first meeting with their vulgar leader, Meeran; remembering the leering look on his face as he ran his eyes appreciatively up and down my body. I had a bad feeling about working with him from the start after that, but Aveline and Carver seemed more comfortable with him than with the elven smuggler, if only marginally. Then... then, when the lecherous cretin let slip that Gamlen, bloody Gamlen, had actually told him that I was a mage... What could I do, standing there in the Gallows with the entire stock of Templars within easy bellowing distance? I had to accept. And from that day on Meeran was always very quick to remind me of how he was 'protecting' me from the notice of the Templars, never failing to add how easily that could change if I displeased him, or... tried to avoid him running his groping hands all over me whenever he caught me alone. I feel my features twist in disgust as my mind suddenly showers me with unwelcome memories, accompanied by ghosting sensations. The touch of calloused fingers dragging along the back of my neck as I sit on a crate in a dismal back alley, waiting for orders. The same filthy digits grasping at my hip as I pass him on my way to some foul job or another. I shiver abruptly and turn away from Mother, trying to hide my expression from her. She can't know, she mustn't; she'll feel terrible if she ever knows. I don't want her to know. I can't let her know, not ever. I can feel myself breaking out in a cold sweat as the memories get worse, almost feeling my back pressed up against a rough stone wall in a dark alley corner as he stands right in front of me, close, too close, hot, fetid breath in my face, burning my nose, stinking of cheap whiskey and the magebane potion he was always careful to have on hand around me. A rough hand slipping beneath my shirt, pawing at my breast, while the other runs over and down my back before dipping lower and squeezing, grasping. The sound of the gravelly voice in my ear; _"Not a word, now, little mage, that's a good girl. Be a right shame to see such a fine specimen locked away in the Gallows, wouldn't it? And what would that do to your family, eh? Little brother would get himself killed in five minutes without his apostate sister looking out for him, now wouldn't he?" _My fists clench in helpless rage, unable to do anything but lower my head in resignation at the truth of his words, and he grins, coarse fingers finding their way beneath my waistband, roaming, stroking, touching._ "That's a good girl."_

I take a deep, calming breath, and let it out slowly. Damn Gamlen to the Void for giving a man like that such leverage over me. I'm sure the only thing that kept him from taking advantage of it as often as he wanted was Carver. My brother, though initially somewhat... impressed by Meeran, still never fully trusted that rotten piece of work, and while I never told him, couldn't tell him, about Meeran's... attentions... he seemed to know something wasn't right, and he never left me alone for a moment longer than he had to, the whole year we worked for the Red Iron. Carver would have killed the bastard in a heartbeat if he knew Meeran hurt me, and Meeran knew it. It wouldn't have mattered to the bastard if the Red Iron or the Templars caught up with us after that; vengeance means nothing to a dead man. But Carver couldn't always be there. He had to go where Meeran sent him, and Meeran always seemed to come up with contracts that kept my brother in the field, and me... within easy reach...

I shake my head, a little too forcefully, pushing the dark memories away, and look up to find Mother watching me sadly. An anxious knot forms in the pit of my stomach at the expression in her eyes. She couldn't have known about him, could she? How could she know, nobody knew, not even Carver. She must simply mean the contract killings Carver and I had to perform, surely. Those were terrible enough, but I don't think I could stand her knowing just how awful that vile man was. I tried so hard to keep it all from her.

"I don't want you to have to live that way again, love," she says softly. "I can't imagine what it must have been like, having to... to kill people on command like that. Especially for you." So that's all she meant, after all. I hold in a profound sigh of relief, silently thanking the Maker; I couldn't stand her knowing the whole of what I went through to protect her and Carver, and to keep myself out of the Templars hands. "It wasn't so difficult for Carver, my little soldier, but you... you were always so sweet, so gentle," Mother continues, and then blinks rapidly, her face crumpling."Just like Bethany..."

I feel a deep twinge of grief in my chest, answered by the shining wetness that fills her eyes as she looks back up at me, her mouth trembling slightly. She takes a deep breath, attempting to regain her control. "A suitable marriage will ensure that you will always be fed, and comfortable. And safe," she says, gazing at me, her pale blue eyes swimming with love and unshed tears. "That's all I want for you, darling."

That's... that's why she's so determined to do this. I stare at her, trying to speak but unable to make my throat work. I... I think I understand, but... oh, Mother, this isn't what I want. Can't you see? She turns fully to face me and smiles gently, lifting a hand to cup my cheek lovingly. Andraste's pyre, she's making this so hard! "Above all else, I want you safe. Sweetheart, I'm only trying to do what's best for you." She strokes my cheek gently with the backs of her fingers, smiling kindly, sadly, and then turns back to her hopeless hunt for something respectable amongst my clothes.

Maker. I... I'm beginning to see her reasoning now, skewed as it may be. I know she's acting out of love and concern, and she only wants what's best for me, but... I rub at my forehead in consternation. I appreciate what she's trying to do, on some level at least. But this isn't what is best for me at all. How can I make her see? I think frantically for a moment, before my mind helpfully seizes upon the greatest logical flaw in her thinking. Of course. I suppress a grim smile. If this doesn't force her to realise the futility of her plans for me, then nothing will. It has to work.

It will work better if I lead her to the same conclusion, however, rather than just coming right out and saying it. I move to sit on my bed, watching her look through my modest wardrobe for a few moments before I finally manage to speak.

"Mother, why did you leave Kirkwall?"

She stops in her examination and turns to me, a puzzled look on her face at my sudden, somewhat incongruous question. "Because I met your father," she answers after a moment. She frowns a little as she looks at me in consternation. "You know that, darling."

"But why didn't you just stay here?" I ask persistently. "Why leave your family?"

Her frown deepens. "What is the point of these questions? I've answered them all before." I stay silent, watching her, and she sighs, apparently deciding to indulge me. "We had to leave Kirkwall because my family did not approve of your father. They would not have allowed Malcolm and I to marry."

"And why was that?" I prod her, even though I know the answer.

"Because he was a mage, of course..." She trails off, looking up at me suddenly as she grasps my point at last.

I smile a little sadly as I finish for her, holding her gaze pointedly: "And in marrying him, you were bringing more magic into the Amell line, not less, which is just what I would bring into such a marriage, isn't it? I'm a mage, Mother. An illegal mage. You can't have forgotten that. And I hardly think that any noble will want an apostate for a wife, do you?"

"You wouldn't have to tell him," she says, apparently without thinking.

_Oh, Mother._ I close my eyes briefly at her words, then look at her reproachfully. She gasps suddenly, her hand flying to her mouth, and then she lowers her head with a look of mortified shame.

"Maker, love, I'm so sorry! I... I don't know what's come over me. You could never live like that; hiding who you are. Neither could Malcolm." She looks up at me apologetically, her expression horrified. "I didn't realise I had become like this. I'm... Andraste forgive me, I'm acting just like my own mother! I'm sorry, it's just... you're all I have left, love." She gestures helplessly, looking at me with tear-filled eyes. "You're my baby, and... I just want to see you happy."

Her voice breaks a little, a single tear escaping to roll slowly down her cheek, and I rise abruptly and hug her, my concern for her at odds with my palpable relief. This is much more like the mother I remember. "I know, Mother. It's alright. Don't be upset, please."

She sniffs a little, clutching me to her fiercely. "I've been foolish. I of all people shouldn't be pushing you to marry into nobility for the sake of a title, or money. Forgive me, please." She gives a strained little laugh, wiping at her eyes. "I must have been possessed by the spirit of your grandmother, living here again. I'm sorry. You deserve to be happy." She cups my chin in her hand lovingly. "I want you to find someone who can give you as much love and happiness as I had with your father."

Her words instantly fill my mind with thoughts of Merrill, and a wide smile curves my lips. Mother looks at me questioningly, not failing to notice my expression, and I hesitate for a moment, considering whether or not to explain the reason for the sudden, moronically happy grin crossing my features. I'll have to tell Mother about her sooner or later. Might as well be now, I suppose, since we're being so open with each other. Now is as good a time as any. I bite my bottom lip for a moment, trying to get my expression under control, then meet her eyes; a little shyly, if I'm honest. I'm not entirely certain as to how she's going to react, after all; particularly considering the nature of our conversation thus far. "Well... you don't have to worry about that, Mother. I... I already have. Found someone, I mean."

Mother blinks in surprise, her mouth dropping open in a very unladylike manner. "But... When? I... I had no idea!" she stutters at last, grasping my hands excitedly. "Oh, my darling! That's... that's wonderful!" She winces slightly, shaking her head at herself reprovingly. "And here I was, throwing suitor after suitor at you; you must have been so vexed with me. Why didn't you say anything?" She pauses, and suddenly gives me a mock-stern look, though I can see she is trying to suppress a smile. "Is that why you were out so late, young lady?"

I feel a blush spread hotly over my cheeks. _Uncomfortable. So very uncomfortable._ "Well... yes, in a way, but not for the reason you think. Not exactly." My hand creeps to the back of my neck, and I make a conscious effort to lower it. "We weren't... I mean, we didn't... do anything." I cringe a little at hearing my own foolish words, feeling nothing so much like an awkward adolescent. _Ugh, Maker, this is embarrassing._ "It's all very new. We're going slowly."

"Who is it?" Mother presses insistently, evidently unwilling to accept my elusive reply. "One of those companions you spend so much time with?"

"I... yes, actually, but..." I hesitate, not entirely sure of how to tell her, suddenly regretting having said anything. It's not that I don't think she'll be supportive, at least, now that I've made her see how crazy her marriage plans for me were, but... I've never had this sort of talk before. I've never had anyone to tell her about. This is... awkward. And I'm certain it would probably take more time than I can afford to spare, right now. The walk to the Dalish camp is long enough; I need to hurry before the morning is completely gone.

"Would you mind if we discussed it later?" I ask, a little pleadingly, feeling like a coward as I hear the sightly whinging tone in my voice. _But_ _it's just so awkward!_ "Right now, I need to get washed and changed. I don't think I'll be making it to the de Launcet's party, I'm afraid. I have to go out again."

She frowns in disappointment, though whether her displeasure stems from my reluctance to discuss my personal affairs with her or my refusal to attend the Compte's garden party, I don't know. Probably both. "But you only just got in!" she protests. "Where are you off to this time?"

"Sundermount."

She blinks at me in confusion for a moment. "What on earth could you possibly need to go there for?" Mother asks incredulously, her brow creased in puzzlement.

I hesitate, wondering what to tell her. I'm hardly about to explain the full details of Merrill's request, after all. In the end I settle for vague. "Ah... Merrill needs my help with something."

Mother smiles then, an affectionate smile that lights her whole face. I feel my heart lift hopefully at her favourable reaction to the mention of Merrill's name. _Well, that's encouraging._ "Oh, of course. Merrill. A kind, sweet girl, that one. She often reminds me of Bethany, in a way," she says, her voice warm.

I grimace a little at that however, feeling highly uncomfortable at Mother drawing a comparison between the object of my affections and my little sister. Understandably, I think. I don't really see anything of my sister in Merrill, thankfully, and I certainly don't want to start. It's just too... no, I don't even want to think about it. My odd response to Mother's words does not escape her notice and she blinks at my expression, then gives me a measured, thoughtful sort of look. I suppose she's trying to decipher my reaction; it must have seemed rather strange to her, after all.

"She's such a dear little thing," Mother continues after a heavily weighted moment of silence, studying my face closely. "Although she always seems so slight and pale. I'm concerned she doesn't eat enough. You really out to bring her here more frequently for dinner, you know."

"I was already planning to bring her over, a lot more often, in fact," I say without thinking, and she smiles.

"Good. Why don't you bring her here tonight, then, after you get back from Sundermount?" she says decisively, and I can tell from her tone that it isn't a suggestion. "Mind you be careful out there, love, whatever you're helping Merrill with today. See that you take good care of her."

I smile again, I can't help it. "I intend to."

Mother smiles again too, suddenly, this time with a look of... satisfaction?

I shift uncomfortably under her gaze, which has become rather intense, knowing, even. "What?"

"It's Merrill, isn't it?" Mother looks at me, a knowing smile spreading across her face. "She's the one you meant. You're in love with her, aren't you?"

_How did she... Maker, am I so transparent?_ My eyes widen involuntarily, and I stutter something unintelligible; whether a half-hearted and thoroughly unconvincing involuntary protest, or an exclamation of surprise, I honestly have no idea. It hardly matters, really. Whatever I managed to say, if anything, Mother has her answer now. I fall silent, gazing at her a little apprehensively, still reeling in astonishment. _How did she know?_

"I know love when I see it, or I ought to. And I certainly see it now," Mother says in answer to my unspoken question. "Although, I must say, you were remarkably easy to read. You smiled like a simpleton every time I mentioned her, just now. I really should have realised it sooner. I believe I would have, if I hadn't been behaving so blindly." I blush, speechless, and her smile widens. "Oh, sweetheart, you could have just told me, you know." She pauses, considering, and then shakes her head ruefully. "Although... the way I've been behaving... no, I suppose you wouldn't have thought you could. I'm happy for you, darling; I really am. You know I like Merrill. She's a wonderful girl."

I grin widely then, and without reservation. "She really is." I'm so glad she sees it too. And I'm so glad she's not upset with me over the whole 'make a good noble marriage' thing. I hesitate a moment as a thought occurs to me, and then tilt my head to the side a little, catching her gaze. "You... you do realise this means no grandchildren, right?" I point out, somewhat reluctantly.

She smiles a little, though there is a hint of sadness in her eyes that sends a small, painful jolt through my chest. "I am aware of that, love," she says quietly. "And I won't lie; another reason I wanted you to marry so desperately was to hear these halls filled with children's laughter again." I lower my eyes, and she reaches out suddenly, raising my head with her fingers firmly beneath my chin, meeting my eyes with her own kind, loving gaze. "But I meant what I said. I want you to be happy. And if Merrill makes you happy..."

"She does." This time, I feel the blissful smile that takes over my face. "Completely."

Mother smiles in answer. "Then that's all I need to know."

I hug her fiercely, suddenly overwhelmed, and she laughs gently, rubbing my back. "I love you, Mother. Thank you," I whisper, not trusting my voice enough to speak louder.

Her arms tighten about me. "I love you too, darling." She kisses my cheek gently, and then pulls back, patting my arm. "You'd better start getting ready to go, hadn't you?" she says briskly, suddenly all business again. "Hurry up and pick out something suitable for going trudging about on a mountain, and I'll have a bath ready for you in a few minutes. Mind you pick something nice as well as practical, sweetheart. And perhaps... something green? You look lovely in green. And..." she lowers her voice a little, glancing at me meaningfully. "If I'm not mistaken, Merrill rather likes that particular colour."

I give a surprised laugh at that, and nod, smiling at her gratefully, unable to speak. She smiles back gently and pats my arm again before turning to leave, gliding gracefully over to the door to my bedroom. I watch her go, a warm, happy feeling filling my heart. This talk went better than I could have imagined. And to know she approves of Merrill... I should have known Mother would guess, eventually; she always had a knack for reading my emotions, even if she isn't always correct about their source. I've never been so grateful for her easy ability to read me, when she has a mind to.

Mother pauses suddenly just before she steps through into the hallway, turning back slightly to regard me thoughtfully. "Just one thought, darling. About you, and Merrill..." she says after a brief moment, an almost mischievous glint in her eye.

I survey her carefully, suddenly feeling somewhat cautious at her teasing tone. "Yes, Mother?" I answer, a little warily, wondering what could possibly be going through her mind.

"I know it's probably far too soon, but..."

_Oh, no, what?_ From the amusement in her voice, it's going to be something embarrassing, and probably very personal. She's been doing that more and more frequently of late. A mother's prerogative, I suppose; although sometimes I could swear she's been taking lessons from Isabela in creating comments designed to make me squirm. I wait in dreadful anticipation, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

Mother quirks an eyebrow delicately at me, her lips curved in a pleasant, slightly impish smile.

"You could always adopt, you know."

_Oh, Mother..._


	12. Chapter 12

_Here we go, Mirror Image at last. Enjoy! _

_BTW, for anyone who read this whole story more recently (like in the last weeek of February), I somehow managed to replace chapter 4 with this chapter, which has caused much confusion, since it sort of seems to follow on from chapter 3. Sorry, really sorry. But it's fixed now. So if it seemed weird, or if it triggered for you that Merrill's quest doesn't usually happen in act one, you might want to check it out just in case. Chapter 4. Sorry! No idea what the hell I did. A big thank you and gratefully appreciative grovelling to miletta101 for pointing it out to me! Obviously need to read my own story more often. And be more careful when posting and fiddling around in the story manager. So I'm posting this chapter now, although I'm still not entirely sure it's actually ready, but I think I need to do it to alleviate confusion. More chapters coming up very soon!_

_And as always, thank you for reading and reviewing. :p_

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><p>xxx M xxx<p>

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><p>"I saw her, kitten."<p>

I stop tracing my finger over the whorled, twisted patterns on the old stained wood of the tabletop and look up, startled by the low, amused sort of tone in Isabela's voice. She grins wickedly at me, and I flush a little nervously.

"What do you mean, Isabela? Who did you see?"

She rolls her eyes at me a little, though her amused grin stays on her lips. "Don't be coy, sweet thing. You know who I mean. I saw Hawke from my window, walking past the Hanged Man this morning." She pauses for a moment, gazing at me meaningfully. I do know what she means, of course I do, I just... I didn't expect to talk about it, when I came here. Though, I suppose I should have, really, shouldn't I? This is Isabela, after all.

"Coming from the direction of the alienage. Wearing the same clothes she had on... _yesterday_," Isabela continues, stretching out the last word teasingly, and then pauses again, longer this time, slowly raising an eyebrow at me as I watch her uneasily. I suppose I do owe her enough to tell her about it, but she's just making it seem so... dirty, somehow. It isn't like that with me and Hawke, though. Not... not yet, anyway. "Shall I assume you followed my invaluable advice?"

I squirm uncomfortably on the hard wooden bench and look away, suddenly really not wanting to meet her gaze. "I..."

"Come on, kitten, you can tell me," Isabela says, nudging my leg under the table with her foot, making me jump in surprise. "She was with you, wasn't she? Admit it. You spent the night together."

"Well... y-yes." We did, after all. Sort of.

Isabela gives a pealing, delighted laugh, making rather a lot of heads turn curiously in our direction. I try to make myself as small as possible, desperate to avoid their notice. I'm sure they are really only interested in her and not me at all, but still, I'd really rather not have all eyes on us just now. Not if she's insisting on asking me about this. _Mythal'enaste, does she really have to be so loud?_

"I knew it! Oh, kitten, I'm so proud! I think I'm going to cry." She grins at me knowingly, and her amber eyes flash with a strange sort of excitement. "So, go on then, tell me about it."

Tell her about it? Tell her... tell her about what, exactly? I already told her how I feel, didn't I? And she knows how Hawke feels, because she's the one who told me, after all. "What... what do you want to know?" I ask nervously.

Isabela raises her eyebrows, grinning wider. "How is she?"

I frown in confusion. "She seemed alright when she left. Why? She didn't look sick when you saw her, did she?"

"No, kitten. I meant, how_ is_ she?" Isabela says, speaking kindly but slowly, as though talking to a very small, rather dull-witted child. She only does that when I'm being excessively dense about something and she's trying not to get annoyed, usually when I'm missing something dirty... _oh_. Isabela sighs patiently, apparently mistaking my embarrassed silence for incomprehension, and gives me a very pointed look. "I'm asking you how Hawke is... in bed?"

_Creators!_ I shake my head vehemently. "I-I... oh, no, Isabela, we didn't sleep together! I mean, well, alright, yes we did, sort of, but not in the way you mean!" She narrows her eyes at me skeptically, and I hasten to explain. "We... we kissed... and then I asked her to stay, because it was quite late, after all, and I didn't want her walking home through Lowtown at night, it's dangerous. She... she slept in my bed... with me, but... that's all."

"That's it?" Isabela says incredulously, frowning in disappointment, and then she clicks her tongue in irritation. "Looks like I'll have to give you both a few more pointers, then."

I shake my head again, though less forcefully this time. "I don't really think Hawke needs any 'pointers', Isabela," I tell her firmly. "She just... she said she wants to go slowly, because..." I feel my cheeks start to burn again, and pull uncomfortably at my scarf. Is it warm in here?

"Because I haven't ever... you know..."

Isabela smiles gently. "Ah, I see. Well, that's good of her, then. Baby steps, and all that. Kissing will have to do for now, I suppose." She cocks her head at me. "You can at least tell me how it happened, can't you? Did you try flirting with her, like I told you?"

I nod hesitantly. "Well... yes, I did. And it worked, just like you said. She flirted back, and then-"

"And then she kissed you," Isabela finishes for me with a smile of satisfaction.

I bite my lip. "No."

She blinks, and then frowns a little in confusion. "She didn't? I thought you said-"

"I kissed her," I cut her off quietly, blushing harder.

Isabela's mouth drops open, and then widens into a delighted grin. "You did? You kissed her first? Oh, kitten!" She lifts an eyebrow at me archly. "My, you have gotten brave, haven't you! Well done."

"Thanks," I say self-consciously, then rub a hand through my hair and look up at her. "It was sort of an accident, though."

"... I'm sorry; could you run that one by me again?" Isabela says after a long pause. "How exactly do you accidentally kiss someone?"

I shrug, not sure how to explain, exactly. "I don't know, but I managed it." But she ought to know by now; if there's ever anything that is so silly or awkward that most people don't think anyone could ever actually do it, then I'll find a way, somehow. It's my own special talent, it seems. "I suppose... I really only meant to just kiss her on the cheek, but then something sort of took over, and I grabbed her, and kissed her, and then..." I pause for just a moment, still reeling a little from the wonder of it. "She kissed me back. A lot."

Isabela shakes her head half in disbelief, laughing nearly under her breath. "Well, well, if that isn't a delicious twist. I had no idea you had it in you, kitten; I'm impressed! Surprised, but very impressed. I tell you what; it makes for some very pretty pictures in my head." She chuckles again, louder. "Gives me a great idea for a nice piece of 'friend fiction', too; I bet I could even sell it off to Varric for a good bit of coin," she muses. "Oh, yes. I've even got the perfect title; 'From Shy to Shameless: A kitten in the daylight, but a tiger in the dark...'"

She trails off, leaning forward and resting both her forearms against the table, her long fingers tapping thoughtfully against the side of her mug as she gazes off into a corner of the room with her eyes half closed, apparently picturing Hawke and me in her head, like she said. I shift in my seat, feeling awfully exposed. Whatever she's imagining, I wish she would stop; it's very awkward, and unnerving. I also really hope she doesn't sell the idea to Varric, either, how would I ever explain it to Hawke, if something so... so intimate about us suddenly turns up in one of his serials? Creators, it's too embarrassing to think about.

After few more very uncomfortable moments Isabela lifts her cup abruptly in one hand and takes a long drink, sighing loudly in satisfaction as she lowers it back down with a heavy clunk, giving her head a small shake. I watch her curiously, fascinated. Drinking already; and it's not even gone noon, how does she do it? Why does she want to? She's managed to convince me to have a few more cups of ale than I know I should, on more than one occasion, and it does seem to make everything more fun for a while. At least, from what I can remember, anyway. But I always wake up the next morning feeling absolutely dreadful, as though a herd of halla are running about inside my head with a pack of wolves on their heels. Or hooves, or whatever. Maybe you don't feel that way if you never stop drinking? Or maybe if you drink enough, it stops working, after a time. But then, why keep drinking it? It's not like it tastes very nice; at least, I don't really think so, anyway. I much prefer a cold drink of water, or maybe blackberry cordial. Ohh... yes. Blackberries. I do miss those, very much. Mahariel always had a knack for finding blackberry bushes, and she could make delicious drinks and cordials with them, even little cakes and tarts sometimes, if we were near enough to a shemlen settlement to trade for flour, and things. Tamlen used to tease her, saying maybe she ought to be a cook, not a warrior, but she didn't mind; she just laughed and said that she didn't see why she couldn't be both. Blackberries don't seem to grow this side of the Waking Sea, I'm afraid. At least, not that I've seen.

Isabela's smooth voice purrs in my ear, bringing me abruptly out of my mental ramblings with a jolt. "So... did you enjoy yourself with our dear Hawke, kitten? How does she kiss, is she good? I admit; I've always wondered."

_Mythal!_ Why am I somehow so surprised to hear her asking me these questions? I really should have expected them, shouldn't I? And perhaps even thought about what to say, a bit; then maybe I wouldn't be so embarrassed about answering her now, nor stutter quite so much. "Y-yes, she is; very. Good, I mean. At least, I think so, anyway." I bite my lower lip and drop my eyes a little, feeling my cheeks grow hot as I remember. "It was... amazing."

Isabela chuckles quietly, smirking. "Ooh... look at that blush. That good, huh? Did she curl your toes?"

My eyes snap back to hers. "M-my toes?"

Isabela laughs at my confused look. "Oh, you'll see, my sweet little thing," she says, still chuckling. "When the time finally... comes... you'll see." She lowers her voice, smiling wickedly at me. "She'll make your toes curl, and your fingers clench, your eyes roll... your thighs quiver..."

"Isabela!" I whisper in shock, trying to glare at her fiercely while feeling my cheeks burn hotter than ever.

Isabela only chuckles and grins at me again, looking completely unapologetic and more than a little pleased with herself. I take a deep quiet breath, trying to cool the blood that rose in my face at her comment, and get my blushing under control. I can hardly stay cross at her for saying such things; she was just being Isabela, after all. She's been such a good friend to me and to Hawke, really, despite all of her embarrassing teasing. She only does it in a friendly way. And besides, if it wasn't for her...

Isabela takes a sip from her mug, golden eyes sparkling at me over the rim. "I have to say, kitten, I'm really very proud of you," she says as she lowers her cup to the table with a soft thud, holding it between her palms. I blink at her in surprise; she sounds quite serious, all of a sudden. "And I'm happy for you, too. You've been alone long enough, both of you."

I smile at her gratefully as I think about just how much I owe her. "Thank you, Isabela. If it weren't for you talking to me about Hawke, and then, you know, telling me about flirting and making me jealous and all, I might never have... well, just... thank you."

Isabela reaches over the table and gives my cheek a gentle, affectionate pinch. "Anything for you, sweet thing. I'm glad it all worked out so well." Her face suddenly breaks into a mischievous smile, and she tilts her head, regarding me thoughtfully through half lidded eyes. "However, I do feel it would be remiss of me not to help you take things further. That's what I'm good for, after all." Her smile grows, and her eyes flash wickedly at me, and I nearly start blushing in anticipation before she even voices whatever mortifying thing she's planning to say. _Oh, what is she thinking now?_

"Obviously the next logical step has to be getting the two of you... _naked_," she says, putting heavy emphasis on the word, drawing it out with obvious enjoyment. She winks at me. "I could help with that."

_She can't mean..._ I shake my head quickly, giving her a nervous look, and she laughs aloud and gives my forearm a very light slap. "Oh, not in that way, you goose! I meant you should come and take a look at my little library, like I suggested last night. Maybe we can figure out how to get you two to the next stage with a little... visual stimulation."

Oh. Well... no. I think that might just be sort of... awkward, actually. "Um... not right now, I don't think," I tell her firmly, but then pause for a moment, considering. I wouldn't mind knowing a little more of what to expect, after all. It couldn't hurt, could it? "Perhaps later, though? I..."

My voice trails off abruptly, the words on the tip of my tongue flying right out of my head as the tavern door swings open and Hawke comes in, her graceful form framed in the dazzling brightness pouring through the doorway from outside, the sun's radiant rays making her hair shine and her eyes glimmer with blue fire, driving me to complete and utter distraction. She turns her head, casting her gaze about the dimly lit drinking hall, looking for us, _for me_, and I lift my hand and wave a little shyly as I try to attract her attention. Her eyes fall on me, and her lips curve in a warm, heart-stopping smile. I'm suddenly very grateful that I'm already sitting; I doubt my legs would hold me, otherwise. She works her way across the room towards us, threading gracefully between benches and tables and drunkards, all the while keeping her eyes fixed only on me. She reaches us at last and grins fondly at Isabela as she sits down beside me on the bench, then turns her head a little to look at me again, enveloping me in a tender, caring smile that sends a warm feeling shooting from my heart down to my stomach like a trickle of liquid sunlight. I can feel a wide, foolish sort of smile breaking across my own face in answer to hers as I gaze blissfully up at her. She's so beautiful.

"Aww, would you look at that?" Isabela drawls. "Shy smiles and sidelong glances. You too are so sweet, it's almost sickening. I take it your evening went well, Hawke?"

"Quite well, thank you," Hawke answers, turning to Isabela with a patient expression, a small smile bathing her features in warmth as she looks at her. She raises her hand, signalling to the barmaid, the one who always looks so tired and cross. "A mug of Corff's best ale for my good friend, please, Norah. Put it on my tab." She must have remembered what I said about Isabela trying to help us, in her own way. Hawke smiles at me again, and then looks back at Isabela, who crosses her arms, watching her with a wicked glint in her eye. "Merrill and I... talked," Hawke says, watching Isabela with a half-smile.

Isabela quirks an eyebrow at her, smirking. "You did a bit more than that, if the happy glow on both your faces is anything to go by." She doesn't mention that I told her about what we did as well, for which I am very grateful; I'm not really sure whether Hawke would think it was alright or not. I wasn't going to talk about it, at least, not unless Hawke was there too, but Isabela can be very... persistent. And I did owe her for helping me, after all.

Hawke coughs, and then clears her throat a little, glancing at me briefly with another tiny smile tugging at her full lips. I can't help but smile back. "Yes, well..." Hawke says slowly, now watching Isabela with a guarded sort of look. There's a trace of fond indulgence in her voice, though. "I understand that I have you to thank for that, Isabela, at least in part."

Isabela chuckles a little as Norah sets a frothing mug down heavily in front of her. "Kitten told you about our little conversation yesterday, then, did she? My dear, sweet Hawke; it was my absolute pleasure. You two make an absolutely adorable couple." She pauses, running a thoughtful eye over both of us for a moment. "Although I think you might be pushing it a little, this morning."

"What do you mean?" Hawke asks her warily.

She gestures at our clothing. "Your outfits. They match. Did you plan that?"

"I..." Hawke looks down at her dark green tunic, blushing a little, and I look at her in surprise. Isabela is right; it's just the same colour as mine! Although, most of my clothing is green, come to think of it, so it was probably bound to happen sooner or later. I should probably be a bit more creative with my colour choices, I suppose. Maybe some nice blue things. Or red, even? Although, on second thought, perhaps not; that might just sort of remind everyone about the whole blood magic thing. Maybe blue would be nice, though. And I do still have some coin from the Deep Roads expedition, after all. But, well, I just really quite like green; it reminds me of trees, and grass, and growing things, and there's just not enough of that here in Kirkwall, with all the dirt, and metal, and stone everywhere. Hawke looks very nice in green...

Hawke rubs at her neck a little, the way she always does when she's feeling sort of stressed, or uneasy, and shrugs uncomfortably. "We, ah... didn't plan it, no..." she says.

"But it's a nice sort of accident, isn't it, though?" I put in, trying to help her. I don't like seeing her feeling uncomfortable, or embarrassed. I'm not really sure why she'd be embarrassed about wearing the same colour as me, though. Wearing matching outfits could be fun! "Maybe you should put on something green as well, Isabela, and then we'll all match! It could be like a sort of uniform for when we're following Hawke, like Aveline and her guards wear, only nicer; not so big, and orange, and clinky."

Isabela chuckles again, in amusement this time. "Oh, yes, Serah Hawke and her Merry Band of Misfits! What a sight we'd be. Sorry, kitten, but I'm afraid I don't own anything green. It's not my colour."

"Oh, well, never mind," I say, a little regretfully. It would have been fun, at least I think so. Ah, well. I look up at Hawke. "We can just match each other, then."

She smiles at me, her eyes twinkling. "I can live with that."

Isabela gives a delicate snort. "Ugh. You two are far too cute. I may have to be ill."

Hawke gives a light, lyrical laugh, and her eyes dance. "Lovely," she says wryly, looking over at Isabela with a small, amused shake of her head. "I'd really rather you didn't, if you don't mind? Or at least give me ample warning, so I can step well clear."

"I'll do my best," Isabela promises, raising her mug to Hawke in a sort of salute, and taking a long sip.

"Good," Hawke says, smiling. "Then are you available for a nice hike up Sundermount today? Merrill needs-"

Isabela waves her hand at Hawke, cutting her off mid-sentence, and narrowly avoiding spilling her drink all over the table. She manages not to, somehow; I suppose it's because of her reflexes. She's so quick, and clever. She'd make a great griffon-wrangler, if she wasn't a pirate, that is. And if griffons weren't extinct. Poor things. It's such a shame; she'd be perfect! I wish they weren't extinct; I always wanted a baby griffon as a pet. She'd get one for me, I'm sure she would.

"Yes, yes, Hawke," Isabela says impatiently. "Merrill filled me in on the whole 'mirror' thing already. Sounds intriguing. Happy to help. Afraid it'll just be me, though. Varric's out; running around in Hightown today for some reason or another."

"He is? What is he up to?" I ask curiously. She didn't tell me that, before. Although I suppose I didn't ask, either, though she didn't really give me time to, come to think of it; she started asking me about Hawke almost as soon as I finished telling her a bit about my mirror, and what we were going to do today.

"No idea," Isabela says, lifting one bare shoulder in a half shrug. "He was being very vague about it. Not to mention somewhat twitchy. Perhaps it has something to do with that backstabbing bastard of a brother of his, what was his name, Baldwin, Bertram?"

"Bartrand." Hawke's voice is short and hard, and I look over at her worriedly. Her expression is grim and dark, her eyes suddenly sad and angry, like they always get whenever anything reminds her of everything that happened, back then. I hate that it still hurts her so badly. I reach out and take her hand beneath the table, and she starts, glancing down as I lace my fingers through hers, and then she lifts her head, smiling at me gratefully, rubbing her thumb over the back of my hand.

Isabela clears her throat loudly, and we both jump. Her eyes flick between us, amusement blazing clearly from their golden depths, and Hawke raises an eyebrow at her in a slightly challenging sort of way. Isabela just grins back at her without saying anything, and Hawke shakes her head after a moment, rolling her eyes a little and smiling. I stare between them in bewilderment, baffled by their silent exchange. Perhaps it's a human thing?

"Alright, no matter. I'm sure we can do without him," Hawke says. "A girls-only day out on the mountain, then."

"Sounds like a plan." Isabela drains her whole mug in one long swallow and stands, grinning at us. "Shall we, girls?"

Hawke rises too, and I get up slowly, sliding reluctantly out from under the bench and following them both back over to the tavern door. I have a queasy sort of feeling in my stomach all of a sudden; I suppose it's because I'm still so nervous about talking to the Keeper again, even though Hawke will be with me, and Isabela, too. Although it could just be the smell of... of whatever that is, on the floor, there. _No, be honest, Merrill, it's much more than that_. Hawke was right; I'm absolutely terrified to face the Keeper again. She'll know exactly what I want the arulin'holm for, when I ask her, and she'll scold me and look at me with that terrible saddened frown... It's so hard to stand up in the face of her disapproval; quite literally, in fact. The cold, disappointed anger in her eyes always sets me to shaking...

I feel a strong arm slip about my waist as we step out into Lowtown, and look up to see Hawke smiling down at me. She doesn't say anything, just nods her head once, squeezing me a little, and I feel my nervousness fade, not completely, but it's not nearly as bad as it was, now. I nod back at her determinedly and take a deep breath as we start walking, Isabela strutting just ahead of us, leading the way, and Hawke beside me, calming me, supporting me. Protecting me, like always.

Everything's going to be alright.

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><p>xxx H xxx<p>

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><p>The brightly coloured paints and richly embroidered standards adorning the tents and aravels of the Dalish camp provide a pleasant relief against the dismal greys and browns of the gloomy mountainside as we approach, passing through an old, crumbling stone archway and turning into the small valley sheltering the camp from unwelcome intrusion. The warriors standing guard at the camp perimeter grudgingly allow us by, though they seem rather more inhospitable than on previous occasions, if possible. But after several stern cautions and thinly veiled threats, they eventually let us through; Isabela tipping them a wink and a suggestive smirk as we pass. I shoot her a warning glare; there's no way to tell how they'll respond to her antics, and I'd really rather not risk an incident this morning. Merrill has enough to worry about as it is; she could do without having to deal with further ire from her clan mates if they find the behaviour of one of her human companions in any way offensive. She widens her eyes at me innocently, and I suppress a sigh. I hope I won't regret bringing her with us today. For a rogue, Isabela is remarkably incapable of subtlety.<p>

Merrill is walking to my left, very close beside me, and I glance at her in concern as we walk slowly into the camp. She is worrying at her bottom lip again, and her eyes are downcast, staring fixedly at the ground beneath her feet as she walks, her arms crossed tightly beneath her chest in a protective sort of way. I feel a sudden urge to wrap her up in my arms and hold her until she feels better, but I suppress it swiftly; not here, in the middle of the Dalish camp. I have no doubt that would not go down well, and there's no sense in making things worse for her while we're here. She hasn't expressed her exact feelings on the matter, but I can't help but worry that she might be a little fearful of what her clan would think of her and me together, perhaps even a little... ashamed. It's a terrifying thought, and one I'd much rather not dwell on. Even if she doesn't feel that way, it still won't make our task here any easier if I draw attention to us like that. All I can do is stay as close to her as I can, support her, and just hope she knows that I'm here for her. Whatever she needs.

A group of two young men and a woman standing idly outside an aravel pause in their conversation as our little group approaches their position, before bending their heads in close together, talking softly. A snatch of their conversation drifts over to me on the breeze and I strain my ears curiously, trying to catch their words. Admittedly this is eavesdropping, but since they appear to be discussing us, somehow I just don't feel all that bad about it.

"I know Merrill was fond of Mahariel, but it's been years," I hear one of them say softly, a young man with wavy, chestnut coloured hair, a faint look of disdain marring his otherwise pleasant face."It's not healthy."

"Brooding over the loss of Mahariel is the least disturbing thing she's done, Junar, and well you know it," says the woman, flicking a strand of her dark hair out of her eyes as she shoots a hateful glance over her shoulder at us. Or more accurately, at Merrill. I resist the urge to glare back at her on Merrill's behalf, since she still has her eyes on the ground and doesn't see. _Calm down, just don't react. It isn't worth it_. I take a slow, deep breath, trying to keep my temper in check. I shouldn't antagonise anyone anyway, not while we're here asking for favours.

One among the group speaks up as we draw near; a young elf with sleek blond hair in green hunter's garb. "If you're wise, human, you'll stay as far away from Merrill as you can. No sane person would touch what she's taken up," he says coldly in my direction, shooting a hard, withering look at Merrill, but she doesn't appear to notice his glare or his comment; apparently deep in fearful contemplation and completely oblivious to her immediate surroundings. I glance at him for a brief moment, wondering what he meant exactly. Merrill told me the clan didn't approve of her efforts to fix the eluvian, but I didn't quite realise just how strongly they all felt about it.

I decide to ignore the blond hunter's remark; instead merely preparing to pass him by without a word or any other form of acknowledgement. Merrill hasn't noticed him or the stares of the other two, so I will leave it alone for the moment. Much as I may feel like leaping to her defence, all I would likely accomplish by doing so would be to draw her attention to their scorn, and that's the last thing she needs right now. Isabela, on the other hand, mutters something darkly under her breath as we walk by him, shooting daggers with the ferocity of her golden glare, and his green eyes widen as he stumbles a few paces back with a look of frightened astonishment. I'd find it almost comical were it not for the fact that my heart seethes at the contemptuous looks the other two give Merrill as we pass them. Yet... there was something else in their eyes as well that troubled me, something that I also thought I saw in the faces of the sentries as they saw us coming. When they saw Merrill with us... I almost would have said it was fear, but...

I shake my head firmly as we walk past the large bonfire in the centre of the camp. No, that can't be right. They couldn't possibly be afraid of Merrill; no one could, surely. They might not approve of what she's trying to do, but this is her clan, her adoptive family. They must know her better than anyone, and no one who really knows Merrill could ever actually be afraid of her, blood magic or no. It's just... inconceivable. I must have been mistaken; it wouldn't be the first time, after all. Still... their faces, their attitudes, their words... something about that whole encounter, not to mention our trouble with the sentries, has left me with a deep feeling of unease in the pit of my stomach, like a warning instinct. I take note of it in concern. It might be nothing, but... well, better safe than sorry, and if there's something wrong here... I couldn't take it if anything happened to Merrill because I ignored my... intuition - or whatever it is - the way I did before, with... with Carver.

I take a look around the centre of the camp, trying to ignore the prickling on the back of my neck as all the Dalish seem to turn their suspicious, wary gazes on us at once. I finally spot the Keeper in the distance, right at the far edge of the camp, standing with her back to us as she talks to someone directly before her, though I can't make out their features. They seem rather too tall for an elf, whoever it is. I look around at Isabela and Merrill. "There's Marethari, over there. Looks like she's talking to someone."

Merrill looks up at my words, giving a little shiver as her eyes fall on the silent, austere figure of the Dalish clan leader. "Oh, I'm really not looking forward to seeing the Keeper again," she says softly, almost under her breath. She looks around and finally notices the silent, icy glares of her clan. "Everyone is staring at me," she says quietly, her voice nervous, and sad. She looks up at me. "Let's get this over with."

I give her a reassuring smile, wishing I could wrap my arm around her comfortingly. "Just ignore them. We'll be out of here soon enough, I'm sure." She tries to smile back at me, but doesn't quite manage it, and she turns her fretful, worried gaze back to the Keeper. If Marethari doesn't give us the tool, then I at least hope we can manage whatever task she gives us relatively quickly and get away from here. I don't like seeing her look so distressed, especially when there doesn't seem to be anything I can do for her.

We approach the Keeper slowly, trying to give her and her companion time to finish their conversation before we interrupt. The unidentified person slowly manifests itself into a human sized figure in shining plate armour, though we're still too far away for me to make out a face, or any distinguishing features. Whoever they are, the Dalish obviously feel secure enough with them to allow them to retain their arms and speak to their Keeper without a guard. Someone already familiar to them, then?

"Well, look who it is," Isabela says with a grin, her sharp eyes apparently able to see farther and more clearly than I can, honed by her years at sea searching out land and other ships on the horizon, I suppose. "None other than our illustrious Guard-Captain in all her supremely authoritative, tight-arsed glory. Wonder what brings her here?"

I start in astonishment, and then strain my eyes at the figure as we walk closer, though I don't doubt that Isabela is right. I'm just a little surprised to find Aveline here, on her own. I feel sudden a twinge of alarm; has someone been making trouble for the Dalish?

I quicken my pace, trying to listen; I can faintly make out their conversation as we draw near.

"...wanted to ask about your clan members, the ones who were set upon in Lowtown recently," I hear Aveline say, her voice measured and composed, but with a clear tone of concern. "How are they?"

_Set upon?_ I frown anxiously; it seems I might be right about trouble, unfortunately.

"They recover swiftly, and will be well again soon," the Keeper replies somewhat reservedly, the lilting cadence of her voice so like, and yet so unlike Merrill's. "I thank you for your assistance and your concern, Guard-Captain."

I am near enough now to clearly make out the genuine relief on Aveline's face as she inclines her head respectfully to the Keeper. "You're quite welcome. I am glad to hear they will be alright."

This seems as appropriate a moment as any to interrupt, and I walk up to them, Merrill and Isabela a step behind me. "Aveline?"

Aveline favours me with a warm smile, and a nod. "Hello, Hawke," she says mildly, surveying me calmly with her cool green eyes, for all the world as though we were speaking in her office rather than in the middle of a camp full of bristling, barely tolerant Dalish elves.

I raise a questioning eyebrow at my red-haired friend. "I didn't expect to see you here, of all places. What's going on?"

She gives a weary sigh. "A rather unpleasant business, I'm afraid. I'm here as a representative of the City Guard."

"What for?" I ask, frowning in concern. "What's the trouble, Aveline?"

"Two of our clan, Terath and Variel, went into the city to purchase supplies to supplement what little the clan can hunt or gather here on Sundermount," Marethari answers my question before Aveline can speak, turning her body slightly so that we form a circle with her and the Guard-Captain. "But when they ventured into the market, they attracted the attention of a group of humans, who became angered by their presence and attacked. Without provocation, beyond the mere fact of their being Dalish in a human city." Her eyes grow angry, and her voice becomes harder as she continues. "Variel and Terath were able to escape them after the guard stepped in, but they were both badly injured before the brutes could be dissuaded."

_Bloody Void._ I hate being right sometimes. Though this may go a little way to explaining the resentment and caution we experienced in the camp; if the clan has had recent trouble with humans. It still doesn't account for the increase in hostility towards Merrill, however. Unless it's because she left them to live in a human city? But then, they really have themselves to blame for not supporting her. I suppose I owe them for that, in a way. A weird, twisted sort of way.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I tell Marethari truthfully, then look at Aveline. "I hope you're here to inform the Keeper that something appropriately nasty and painful has been done to teach the idiots responsible a lesson, then."

"That isn't quite how I was going to put it, Hawke. But yes," Aveline says with a faint trace of amusement, before turning her gaze back to the Keeper. "I've come to assure you that the perpetrators have been arrested, and they will not go unpunished. Their crime was completely unprovoked, and utterly unacceptable. I have sentenced each of them to a public flogging, and a six month stint in the brig; the maximum sentence for unprovoked assault and battery." I smile a little and open my mouth to speak, intending to give my wholehearted support for her judgement, but she raises a gauntleted hand to show she isn't done, keeping all attention firmly focused on her words. Her eyes remain steadfastly fixed on the Keeper. "But I feel I must warn you; there may be repercussions. Some of the more ignorant and intolerant in the city will resent my actions. I can uphold the law within Kirkwall, but out here there isn't much I can do. My patrols are spread too thin to be able to be of much assistance to you, I'm afraid."

Marethari sighs a little wearily, nodding. "I understand. We are quite capable of defending ourselves, however."

Aveline smiles grimly. "I don't doubt it. I saw some of the criminals myself when they were brought in; they were certainly looking quite sorry for themselves. Your clan members gave as good as they got, or better; they were simply too outnumbered to get away. I only meant what I said as a warning." She frowns a little, her concern showing in her eyes as she gazes levelly at Marethari. "I urge you to be cautious, and in the event of any misdirected attempt at retaliation, please send for me."

"I will," the Keeper assures her with a slight, graceful bow of her head. "Thank you." Her eyes fall on Merrill then, who tenses a little but gazes back at her without flinching. But she doesn't say anything, leaving the two elves staring at each other in an uncomfortable, almost heated silence.

Aveline nods at me and moves to leave, but I reach out to grab her arm lightly. "Surely you don't have to go right away, do you?" I ask her quietly. I'd appreciate her help with this, especially since she seems to be on good terms with Marethari. Her presence couldn't hurt, at any rate. "I don't suppose you'd mind tagging along after us for a bit, since you're here?"

She considers briefly, then nods once in agreement and places herself next to Isabela, who smirks at her a little but miraculously manages to hold off any attempts to bait her. Perhaps she plans to wait until we're out of the Dalish camp. Thank the Maker for small mercies. She turns suddenly to murmur something in Aveline's ear and I strain to hear, concerned my relief may have been premature, then relax as I hear her say 'Merrill', then 'mirror' and then 'some sort of magic tool... thing', and I realise she is simply filling the Captain in on the nature of our task. I smile my thanks, which she acknowledges with a wink before continuing her whispered conversation with Aveline.

"Keeper," Merrill says suddenly, speaking up at last.

"You return to us, da'len," Marethari responds, still looking hard at Merrill. "Have you reconsidered this path at last?" The hope in her voice is plain, and more than a little painful to hear. Not to mention rather awkward, since this is hardly a prodigal homecoming. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"I..." Merrill falters, glancing between me and the expectant figure of the Keeper and then falls silent, her courage failing. She looks up at me helplessly, her eyes pleading, and I decide to distract Marethari's attention away from her for a moment to give her time to collect herself.

"We didn't really say a proper greeting before, did we?" I say, letting a small grin play over my lips. "Let's start over. Hello again, Keeper. Don't you look lovely!"

"My apologies, Hawke," Marethari says with a note of quiet amusement, turning her sharp gaze away from her rebellious First to regard me indulgently. "Be welcome among the Dalish."

I hear the whispers behind me cease abruptly; Isabela must have finished explaining our venture to Aveline, I suppose, but the sudden lack of any sound at all is rather unnerving, especially under the weight of the cold stares from the elves all around us. We all stand in awkward silence for a while, until at last I look over to Merrill. She is still staring at the Keeper, looking nothing so much like a frightened baby deer caught under the hungry gaze of an ill-tempered dragon. Does she really fear Marethari's disapproval so much?

I reach out to her surreptitiously and give her hand a brief, reassuring touch. Nothing more; not here, right in front of the Keeper with her whole clan giving us the evil eye from all sides. "You can do this, Merrill. Go on, I'm with you."

She tears her stare away from the Keeper and looks at me, gratitude clear in her wide green eyes. "Thank you, Hawke," she says with feeling, and then takes a deep breath and returns her gaze to Marethari, squaring her slender shoulders resolutely. "Keeper, I need the arulin'holm, the ancient carving blade that Master Ilen keeps."

Marethari's face becomes impassive as she processes Merrill's request, but her eyes flash dangerously. "I see. You still wish to rebuild the eluvian."

Merrill steels herself against the frosty look in the Keeper's eyes. "You don't have to approve of it," she says shortly, though her voice quivers a little as she speaks. "I'm invoking Vir Sulevanan. I'll do whatever task you wish."

Marethari narrows her eyes, her mouth twisting in displeasure. "Well, I'm glad to know I can still disapprove." She crosses her arms, surveying Merrill with a coldly appraising eye, her expression becoming grim and forbidding. This must be the disapproving frown Merrill was worried about. Fearsome, indeed; I don't blame her in the least for being nervous. "It is your right," Marethari says sadly after a moment, sounding resigned. "I will give you a service to perform, if you insist."

I smile gratefully, hearing Merrill let out a tiny sigh of relief at my side. "Thank you, Keeper; we appreciate your help. This means a lot to Merrill."

The Keeper turns to me and inclines her head gracefully to acknowledge my thanks. Her eyes are sad when she raises them to mine, but a small smile hovers on her lips as she looks at me. "I'm glad that Merrill has a friend in you, child," she says, her voice warm. "I hope you will look after her." I nod once in silent affirmation.

"Oh, Hawke will take _very_ good care of her, no doubt about _that_," Isabela says behind me, amusement clear in her suggestive tone. _By the flaming Maker, Isabela, not now... _I turn to give her a fierce warning glare, and she gazes back innocently, or at least, she assumes as innocent an expression as she can manage. Aveline glances questioningly at Isabela, who grins at her a little, giving her a meaningful wink. The Guard-Captain's fine eyebrows lift in surprise and she shoots a look of comprehension at me before hurriedly schooling her face back to impassivity. She meets my gaze momentarily and I think I catch a glint of approval in her eye, though her expression gives nothing else away, to my great relief. Maker, she's perceptive. Thankfully she's also tactful enough to be discreet in front of the Keeper, unlike bloody Isabela, whose full lips are still curved in an amused and deeply satisfied smirk.

"Isabela..." Merrill whispers reproachfully, her voice hardly above a whisper as she keeps her fretful gaze on her former mentor. Isabela's grin fades at the sound of Merrill's voice, and her face becomes apologetic, remorseful even, suddenly seeming to realise the potential damage done by her excessive lack of tact. Far too late to be helpful, obviously, but it's something, I suppose.

Marethari frowns, looking between us for a long, uncomfortable moment. "I am relieved to hear it," she says after a heavily weighted pause, watching my face closely for a few awkward seconds, and then she turns her eyes abruptly back to Merrill's anxious gaze. "A varterral has taken the lives of three of our hunters," she declares abruptly, and then waves a hand in the direction of the camp border, gesturing towards the narrow, tree studded trail to her left that runs past a small crumbling set of ruins before curving sharply out of sight around the base of Sundermount. "It lairs in a cavern in the mountainside. Seek it out. Slay it. No one else must fall to its anger." She folds her arms back over her chest, regarding Merrill with a sombre, challenging gaze. "Do this for us, and I will give you the arulin'holm."

Merrill merely stares at her wordlessly for a moment. "Three hunters..." she says at last, her voice shocked, and a look of distress comes into her face as she stares wide-eyed at Marethari. "Who, Keeper? Is it certain that... that they're dead?"

"Chandan, Harshal, and Radha," Marethari says heavily. "And yes; at this point, I fear there can be no doubt."

Merrill draws in a shuddering breath, blinking back tears, and I immediately move closer to her, reaching out and taking her hand tightly in mine to comfort her, completely forgetting my resolve to be discreet. She holds on tightly, keeping her eyes on Marethari, who glances down at our intertwined fingers for a moment before looking back up at us without comment, though a hint of suspicion remains in her eyes as she looks between us. I feel a surge of unease; does she really guess? Is she that perceptive? Well of course she is, everyone else seems to be, of late, why not her as well? _Damn it, Isabela!_ I curse her, and then myself silently, hoping I haven't just made things more difficult for Merrill. I should have been more careful! I shake my head minutely and concentrate, listening respectfully as Marethari starts to recount the fate of the hunters, trying to ignore the heat of her discerning gaze. Merrill doesn't let go of my hand.

"I sent Chandan into the caves to recover any elven artifacts the varterral may have been guarding, but he did not return," the Keeper begins her tale steadily, her eyes now fixed on Merrill, who gazes back at her with a fearful, anxious look. "When we realised he was missing, Harshal went to look for him. But he came upon the varterral before he found any sign of him, only barely managing to escape with his own life." The Keeper frowns, her expression grim. "I do not understand why it would attack. The varterral was created by the gods to protect our people; it should have recognised his blood, and let him be."

"Do you... do you suppose something provoked it?" Merrill ventures quietly, sounding a little unsteady.

"Perhaps," the Keeper replies, before continuing bluntly; "But it helps us little to dwell on it now. The beast cannot be calmed. Harshal returned to tell the clan of what had transpired, and he and Radha went back to investigate, intending to kill the creature if they encountered it again." Marethari's voice becomes heavy with sorrow, and her eyes grow tight with sadness. "Neither they, nor Chandan, have returned; and it has been far too long now to continue to cling to hope. They would surely have returned days ago, if they lived. I have forbidden anyone else to venture into the caves, even to search for their bodies."

"Poor Chandan," Merrill whispers, her voice thick with unshed tears. I squeeze her hand again in wordless sympathy, and feel her fingers press mine in answer. "And Harshal, Radha. Creators, Ineria and Pol must be devastated!"

Marethari nods sorrowfully. "It is a terrible blow to the clan, indeed." She glances down the trail behind us, her expression growing sadder still. "Pol was... very fond of Radha, as you know, da'len. He refused to believe that she could be dead. He went by himself into the caves to look for her, but he has not come out. I fear the worst for him, as well." She shakes her head a little as she looks back at us. "But I cannot risk anyone else to the varterral's wrath, though many of our other hunters are angered by my decision. Junar, Fenarel, and Ineria in particular are very displeased with me."

"Yes, I think we may have passed those three as we came in," Isabela puts in suddenly in as respectful a tone as she can manage, waving a careless hand vaguely in the direction of the three young hunters by the aravel. "They certainly seemed somewhat less than cheerful."

"The loss of any of our clan hurts us all deeply, child," the Keeper says, surveying her calmly. "Ineria and Harshal were bondmates, and Junar and Fenarel are close friends with Pol. They do not wish to abandon him to his fate, but I consider the risk to be unacceptable. We cannot afford to lose any more of the clan."

"It is hard to make such decisions, but it seems to me to be the only option, considering the circumstances," Aveline offers gravely, and the Keeper acknowledges her words with a slight, gracious nod.

"Your wisdom is appreciated, Guard-Captain. I am certain you have an understanding of the necessity of making such difficult judgements. I thank you for your words."

Merrill draws herself up, meeting the Keeper's gaze with determination. "We'll go now, Keeper. And we'll find Pol, and bring him back to the clan. We will, I promise."

"May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent," Marethari says in benediction, and then turns to walk slowly towards a nearby aravel.

Merrill watches her go, and then looks around at us. "The cave must be near camp. The Keeper would just warn the hunters away, otherwise. There's a cave at the end of this path; that must be the one she means." She gestures down the trail with the hand not still clutching mine, and I nod and start walking, setting a brisk pace down the path.

"So this Pol fellow, kitten... he's a friend of yours, I take it?" Isabela asks behind us.

Merrill glances over her shoulder and nods. "Yes, I suppose he is; although I've only known him for a short while, compared to the others of my clan."

"What do you mean?" Isabela asks; an audible frown in her voice. "Didn't you grow up together?"

Merrill shakes her head as she turns again to look back at the pirate, promptly tripping on a half-exposed tree root and pitching forwards with a shocked gasp. I pull hard on her hand to halt her fall, wrapping my free arm about her waist before she hits the ground and pulling her back upright. She clutches my arms for support and gives me a tiny bashful smile. I give her a small wry grin in return as I set her safely back on her feet, and she turns to Isabela again, who smirks at her; clearly having found the whole incident very entertaining.

"Pol is new to the clan," Merrill says in answer Isabela's question, a faint blush now staining the pale skin of her cheeks. "He was city born. Worldly. He ran away from the Denerim alienage and found us just before we came here to escape the Blight. I only knew him for about a year, before I... left." Merrill turns abruptly, walking swiftly down the trail again, and we follow suit as she continues."He was lonely, sometimes, after leaving his family behind. I was appointed to teach him about our history, and he would tell me a little about living in the alienage, when he needed someone to talk to." She looks up at me. "It was his stories that gave me the idea to go to the alienage in Kirkwall to complete my work." She falls silent again, her eyes on the path ahead; clearly worrying over the tasks before us.

After a few moments, Aveline clears her throat gently. "Merrill, I would like to ask you a few questions about your work, if I may," she says, stepping up to walk on Merrill's other side, her voice somewhat stern and wary. I glance at her quizzically, raising an eyebrow; she sounds guarded and suspicious, as though assessing a potential threat.

Aveline disregards my look; keeping her gaze locked on Merrill. "This mirror of yours — what does it do?

"Mostly it stands in my house, looking a bit spooky," Merrill answers absently, her eyes now fixed firmly back on the path ahead. I can see the anxiety in her face, and her impatience to find her lost clan mate, and I give Aveline a harder stare, silently compelling her to drop her interrogation for now. Surely it can wait.

"But it's magic, right?" Aveline presses her, continuing to ignore me. "So it can do... magic things? Is it dangerous?"

Merrill draws her brows together, considering Aveline's words carefully. "It could fall on someone, but you'd have to push it really hard," she says after a moment. "It's quite heavy."

Isabela chuckles in amusement behind me, and I raise a hand to my mouth to cover a smile as Aveline gives a patiently exasperated sigh. "Merrill, is it a danger to the people of Kirkwall or not?"

Merrill looks up at her in surprise, finally realising the nature of Aveline's concern. "Oh! Only to anyone sitting right under it," she says seriously. Aveline frowns skeptically, and Merrill sighs, shaking her head as she gives Aveline a reproachful, slightly hurt look. "It's safe, Aveline, I promise. I would never have brought it to Kirkwall if I thought it might hurt anyone. You don't really think I would, do you?" Aveline opens her mouth to speak, looking somewhat doubtful, but Merrill forestalls her. "That's really not what we should be concerned about right now, anyway," she says, a slight note of reprimand in her lilting tone. "We should be thinking about finding Pol, and the varterral."

Aveline's eyes soften at the worried look on Merrill's face. "You're right, Merrill, of course. I apologise," she says, her tone gentle and soothing. Merrill accepts her apology with a faint but reassuring smile before her face once more resumes its former anxious expression, and her pace quickens again as we move further down the path.

I watch Aveline for a moment as we walk, but she deliberately avoids my gaze. She seemed rather unconvinced when Merrill told her the mirror wasn't dangerous, at least, to anyone other than herself. She can't believe Merrill was lying, surely? Perhaps her unease simply stems from the fact that it is a magical artifact, and therefore an unknown; something Aveline cannot limit or control with the threat of law or force of arms. That would certainly account for her reaction. I suppose it's understandable, but even if she still believes it's dangerous, I hope she at least believes that Merrill would never hurt anyone, either with the mirror or with her blood magic. At least, no one who didn't deserve it. I glance at Aveline again, more closely this time; noting the deep worry lines etched across her forehead and around her eyes, dragging at the corners of her mouth, and I feel an answering gnawing feeling settle deep in my gut. She has an unerring instinct for knowing when something isn't quite right, which has served us well on several occasions. I've never known it to fail us before, which is what is currently making me feel so uneasy. But then... if she was really convinced that the mirror was a danger, she would have no part in helping us restore it. Perhaps I'm reading too much into her expression; perhaps she's simply concerned about fighting this varterral monster, which certainly classifies as another unknown, after all. I should probably start being a little more worried about that too.

We reach the cave at last and step cautiously into its dark, cavernous maw, treading carefully over the uneven rubble-strewn ground. Merrill and I grasp our staffs simultaneously and light the tips, the bright glow illuminating the glistening walls and the dripping stalactites above us, glinting off of the rusted remains of chains and hooks hanging from old wooden beams across the ceiling; likely the remnants of an old mining operation. I tense suddenly, hearing the scuttling, rustling sounds of movement in the darkness as the sudden glare from our magical light disturbs whatever nasty sort of creatures dwell in the shadows. Giant bloody spiders, probably. Merrill steps forward, her eyes searching desperately about the chamber despite the fact that we are unlikely to find any of her clan mates in the very mouth of the cave, whether dead or alive. And this Pol we're also supposed to be looking for has likely gone much deeper than this. I gaze at her drawn, anxious expression in concern, wishing I could help her find her friend faster, but aside from setting a swift pace through the cave, there's not a lot more I can do. We can't move too quickly, after all, since we'll need to remain on the lookout for this varterral monster we're also supposed to kill, whatever it is.

I frown suddenly, realising again that I have no idea what exactly to expect. This creature is a complete unknown; it could look like anything. I catch Merrill's eye as we head deeper into the cave. Hopefully she knows something about it. "So, what exactly is a varterral? What are we looking for?"

Merrill bites her lip as she looks up at me. "I've never seen one," she admits quietly. "But they are described in the old legends as immense and agile spider-like beasts of rock and tree that move with lightning speed and spit venom. They are said to be wrath incarnate."

Well. Of course they are.

_Great._

"Oh. Brilliant," Isabela says wryly. "I guess we'll know it when we see it, then. Can't be too many of those running about, can there? Let's hope not, anyway." She sighs heavily. "I don't suppose there's any point in hoping that those legends were heavily embellished?"

"Sure. Because we're just that lucky," I say, unable to suppress a small wry grin.

"I am starting to deeply regret waiving my policy to always ask for details _before_ agreeing to help you, Hawke," Aveline mutters darkly, adjusting her grip on her sword as she scans the cave.

Merrill tugs impatiently on my hand, looking up at me; her eyes dark with worry. "Please, let's hurry. We need to get to Pol before something happens to him."

I nod reassuringly. "Of course. We'll find him, Merrill, don't worry."

I signal our little group forward and move deeper into the cave, keeping my eyes peeled for any sign of this giant spider-monster... thing. This has turned into a much bigger task than I predicted, even with Merrill's forewarning; the Keeper is certainly going to extreme lengths to keep Merrill from getting her hands on this tool, whatever it is. It seems Merrill was right to worry that Marethari would try to give her an impossible task; I daresay she believes we'll give up and come creeping back into camp at the first sight of the creature, tails between our legs. I tighten my grip on my staff, feeling my resolve strengthen. We've faced down ogres, demons, and even a couple of dragons together, after all. Surely this varterral beast can't be any more fearsome; I have no doubt we can handle it, despite what Marethari may think. So then... why do I still feel so uneasy? I just can't shake the growing feeling that something isn't quite right about this, but I can't figure out what.

I give my head a little shake to clear it; no sense worrying about it now. I have to keep my wits about me and watch for the varterral, and Merrill's missing clan mate. I hope we find him alive; for his sake and for Merrill's. Perhaps I'm just being too much of an optimist, but I believe there's a good chance he's alright; considering the sheer size of the cave, it seems likely that he may not have run into the monster yet. And maybe, if the elven gods are kind, we might just find some of the other Dalish alive as well.

Until we see bodies, well... we can always hope.

* * *

><p>We find the last corpse lying facedown at the base of a rickety flight of wooden stairs; almost unnoticeable against the back wall of the cave.<p>

"Chandan!" Merrill cries softly, brokenly, the discovery of yet another dead clan mate clearly almost too much for her to bear. "The Keeper was right. They're all dead. Oh, Chandan..."

She kneels beside the body of the dead hunter, closing the lids of his sightless eyes before placing her hand gently against his forehead. "Tread carefully, lethallin. May the Trickster never find you in the Beyond," she says quietly. She puts a hand to his throat, drawing a thin braided cord with a small polished stone hanging from it out from beneath the neck of his armour and slipping it gently over his head, clutching it tightly in her hand as she rises and turns to look at me with dull, sad eyes. "We should give their clan amulets to the Keeper," she says, her voice hollow. "Their families should know that they died bravely."

_Maker, she looks so sad._ I move towards her, to comfort her, but a flurry of scuffling footsteps in the shadows behind us catches my attention and I push her behind me instead, spinning on my heel, eyes searching the darkness. It didn't really sound like another spider, but who knows what else this flaming cave has to throw at us? Or... what if it's the varterral? I adjust my hold on my staff, gripping it determinedly, eyes flashing at the darkness before me. Let the bloody thing come and show itself; I've had just about enough of crawling through this damn cave after it, following the gory trail of bodies to its lair. Let it come out, and fight.

A rock clatters slightly to my right and I turn, straining my eyes, just able to make out a rotting wooden doorway in the glowing light from my staff. I hear another small movement and lower my weapon a little, approaching the direction of the noise cautiously. It didn't sound big enough to be a giant monster of legend, at any rate.

"Is someone there? It's alright; it's safe." I call into the gloom. Nothing stirs, but somehow I know someone is there, listening. I can feel it. It could be Pol. "Show yourself," I encourage, a little harder than I meant as I take another step forward, trying to curb my impatience. Maker's breath, do we sound like we're going to eat him?

"Whoever's hiding had better come out!" I call at last in irritation, then pause for a moment, considering. "Unless you're a dragon. Then feel free to keep hiding."

"Hello?" A nervous, tentative call sounds from the shadows, and a young elf with short blond hair and an extremely twitchy expression steps out from behind the splintered frame of the door. His green eyes fall on me, luminous in the darkness, and his face breaks into a relieved smile as he walks towards me, his hand raised in greeting. "Oh, praise Andras- I mean, the Creators. Thank you, stranger. I got lost; I thought I'd never get out of-"

"Oh, Pol! Thank the Creators you're safe!" Merrill cries happily, stepping up beside me. So this is her lost clan member, then. I could almost send a silent prayer of thanks to the elven gods, these Creators. If I thought they'd care for the gratitude of a human on behalf of one of their designs, that is. I am glad we got to him in time though; Merrill has suffered enough loss for one day.

Pol suddenly pulls up short, freezing mid-step and staring at his clan mate with wide eyes. "Merrill?"

"Aneth ara, Pol. I'm so glad to see you're alright! I was worried we were too late," Merrill says, smiling sweetly at him in relief. She pauses, her face falling a little as she gestures behind her, back in the direction we came."We saw the bodies. I'm... so sorry, Pol. About Radha, I mean."

Pol stares at her, not responding. There is a strange look on his face, almost one of... terror.

Merrill finally seems to notice his odd behaviour, and she frowns in concern as she looks at him closely. "What's the matter, Pol? Are you hurt?"

"Stay back!" Pol warns, his eyes growing hard as he stares at her. "What do you want from me?"

Merrill blinks in confusion and a look of uncertainty crosses her features. "Pol, what's wrong?" she asks, half stretching her hand out toward him. "I'm here to help."

Pol stumbles back a few paces, his wide frightened eyes not leaving her. "Stay back! Don't touch me!" he cries, his voice taking on an edge of hysteria.

Merrill's face crumples a little in bewilderment at his reaction, and her eyes fill with hurt. I feel my heart stir with anger; what in Andraste's name could be making him act this way towards her? "Merrill couldn't hurt you if she tried!" I tell him incredulously. "At worst, she might make frowny faces."

Pol narrows his eyes at me, flattening his back against the rough wood of the doorway behind him. "She'll do worse than hurt me!" he snarls, glaring at Merrill. "Don't you know what she is?"

What does he mean by that? Does he mean... her blood magic? I wasn't sure whether the clan knew about that for certain, but Merrill would never use it against them, they must know that. Merrill would never hurt any of her clan; she only wants to help them. Even if they don't agree with her methods, surely they can't question her motives.

I take a deep breath, and let it out slowly, determined not to let the situation escalate any further if I can help it. Getting him safely out of here is more important than defending Merrill to him right now, however much I may wish to. "Be calm, Pol. Let us help you get back to the camp."

"No!" Pol yells, his eyes wide with fear as he shakes his head. He glares at Merrill as he inches along the wall towards the doorway beside him. "I'm not going anywhere with you! Not if you're with _her_. You don't know what she is. What she's done!"

"Quiet down, son. You'll attract the beast's attention." Aveline says; her voice calm and measured, though her face betrays her worry and disquiet.

"Since we've seen neither hide nor hair of the thing - assuming it has either - I'm betting it's probably down there," Isabela comments from behind us. "I _really_ don't think that's a good way to go."

"Pol, listen to us," Merrill pleads, taking a step towards him. "Don't go that way-"

Pol's face twists in fear and anger at her approach. "No! Keep away from me, monster!" he spits venomously at her. Merrill's face goes blank with shock at his words, and he turns, bolting into the darkness beyond the doorway, his voice echoing against the narrow walls of the stairwell beyond. "Creators, help me! Someone, please!"

"Pol, no!" Merrill cries, and dashes after him. "We have to catch him, hurry!" she calls over her shoulder.

We sprint after her, running down the creaking stairs and down a short stone passageway. I hear an eerie, bloodcurdling shriek that can't possibly have come from anything human or elven, and feel an icy stab of dread in my chest as Pol's terrified scream sounds in our ears, reverberating towards us down the tunnel.

_Oh, Maker._ Isabela was right; this must be the creature's lair!

We push ourselves faster as Pol cries out again, and burst into a huge cavern lit by streams of sunlight pouring through great jagged holes in the ceiling, just in time to see him collapsing in a petrified heap, gazing up in abject terror at the horrible many-legged monster towering over him; a monstrous being constructed of rock and dead tree limbs. It screams again, a harsh, piercing sound, and the elf at its feet whimpers loudly in fear as it twists its head down to look at him.

The creature lifts one of its heavy grey legs in the air above the prone elf, leaving it dangling almost teasingly above him, then slams its rocky appendage forcefully down on Pol's chest with an awful tearing sound and a terrible snap of bone. Pol lets out a wet, gargling scream of agony, his limbs jerking uncontrollably, then he gasps and sighs as his last remaining breath escapes his lungs, his body falling deathly still.

"No!" Merrill screams, hefting her staff as she sprints towards the thing with the rest of us hot on her heels; mana summoned, daggers drawn, sword and shield in hand.

"Hold on, Pol!" Merrill cries as the creature turns to face us, screaming its rage as a well-aimed fireball from Merrill's staff splatters along its stony hide.

"We're coming!"

* * *

><p>xxx M xxx<p>

* * *

><p>We fight the wretched beast for what seems like hours before it finally starts tire.<p>

I redouble my efforts, attacking it with everything I have, but it's still taking too long, far too long! Pol's hurt, we have to help him! We have to finish this, now! The varterral screeches in rage and what I pray to the Creators is a great deal of pain as Hawke shoots a ball of ice straight into its horrible, craggy face, encasing its snakelike head completely and sending a thick layer of frost spreading over its whole body, freezing it in its tracks. Isabela scrambles agilely onto its back and plunges both her daggers into its skull once, twice, as Aveline lops two of its legs straight out from under it, shattering the ice-encrusted limbs with the force of her blow. The thing stumbles jerkily and pitches forward, and I scream in primal fury as I summon a tempest above the creature, the beast that hurt Pol, that killed Radha and Harshal and Chandan, my clan mates, my family, calling down snaking tendrils of lightning into the varterral's body, frying it, burning it, charring it again and again until it lets out one last hoarse, strangely gratifying shriek and drops its head heavily to the ground; thick, foul-smelling smoke pouring from its gaping maw and unseeing eyes.

I run around the vile beast as it twitches in its death throes, searching for him. He was hurt, very badly. We didn't get to him in time to stop the monster, _I _didn't get to him, didn't save him, but maybe it's not too late. Hawke can heal him, I know she can. He'll be alright, he will. He has to be. I see him on the ground and run to him, feeling something damp and sticky against my bare soles as I draw near. I look down.

_Oh, Mythal..._

My feet are bathed in crimson. There's blood everywhere; all around him, all over him, and a gaping wound in his chest. I drop to my hands and knees beside him, feeling the wetness under my fingers. So much blood...

"Pol?"

He doesn't move.

_No. Creators, please..._

I pluck at his shoulder, willing him to move, to breathe, to open his eyes, but he doesn't. He is still, so still. A trickle of blood runs from his mouth.

_No, no, no, no, please, Pol, no! Wake up, lethallin! Please..._

No, he can't be dead, he can't be! I turn my head and look behind me, look for Hawke, my eyes searching her out frantically before I see her come around the dead monster, running towards me. If anyone can help him...

"Maybe... maybe it's not too late." I gaze up at her in desperate hope as she reaches my side. "Hawke, you can save him, can't you?"

Hawke kneels quickly next to me, stretching her hands over Pol's prone form, her hands glowing as she moves them above his body. I watch her anxiously, biting my lip so hard I can taste blood. He'll be alright, he has to be alright. She can save him...

Hawke's shoulders sag suddenly, and she drops her hands as she turns slowly to look at me, her face sorrowful. "He's gone," she says quietly, her voice gentle, her eyes deep with sadness and concern. "I'm so sorry, Merrill."

No. No! Oh, Pol, why didn't you listen? I let my head fall, tears pouring down my face as I bend over him. He's gone. He'll never practise archery with Junar again, never follow after Fenarel, his mentor, his hero, as he hunts deer in the forest. Never craft arrows for Master Ilen, or listen to Hahren Paivel's stories by the campfire, beneath the stars. Never steal kisses with Radha behind the Keeper's aravel in the moonlight. Never again.

He's gone.

He's dead. Dead, because he ran from me! Because he was afraid... of me! I sob my pain, my heartache, my cries lashing against the rocky walls of the cavern and echoing back, ringing in my ears, taunting me. "Why did you run? You shouldn't have run!"

But he can't answer me. He never will.

_He's dead._

I feel Hawke place a hand on my shoulder from behind me. "Merrill." Her voice is a lifeline, as is her touch and I grab her hand tightly, half turning to look at her, tears blurring my vision.

She reaches her other hand to my cheek, trying to wipe my tears away. "It wasn't your fault," she says, softly but firmly as she gazes into my eyes. "There was nothing you could have done."

Her words sound true, but... but it shouldn't have happened. And it feels, like it was my fault, somehow. He shouldn't have died. He wouldn't have, would he, if he hadn't gone that way...

If he hadn't run from me.

Why did he run? Why was he so terrified? I let go of her hand and push myself to my feet, shaking my head in denial. Hawke rises too, worry clear in her eyes as she watches me. I stare back at her wildly. "He was more afraid of me than the varterral! He... he acted as though I was a Darkspawn. I thought..."

I wrap my arms around myself and look down, suppressing a sob as my eyes fall again on Pol's bloody, broken body. _Pol..._ "He tried so hard to learn our ways, to recover his heritage, when he came to us. I thought if anyone in the clan would understand what I was trying to do, it would have been him. But he... he..." The tears come again, harder, and this time a miserable whimper escapes me before I can stop myself. Hawke moves towards me, reaching for me, and I fall into her waiting arms, my words almost unintelligible as I sob into her chest. "H-he c-called me a... a m-monster! He r-ran right into the v-varterral's den to get away from me! _Why?_" Hawke rubs my back gently, murmuring soothing words into my ear, but I can't hear them, can't make them out. All I can hear is the anger, the hate, the abhorrence in Pol's voice as he snarled those awful words at me.

_Keep away from me, monster!_

I sniff, and try to breathe deeply, try to calm myself, tightening my hold on Hawke. "What was he thinking?" I whisper, my voice sounding small and pitiful even to my own ears. I can't seem to help it.

"Don't blame yourself, kitten," Isabela says kindly behind me, and I feel her squeeze my shoulder comfortingly. "Sometimes men do senseless things."

I know she's trying to help, but that isn't enough for me. There has to be a reason. And it wasn't just Pol acting strangely towards me, was it? I saw them all, when we were walking past everybody on our way to talk to the Keeper. Everyone in the camp stopped what they were doing to look at us... at me. They were all staring at me the way Pol did.

_W__hy?_

I turn my head and look back at Isabela, and then at Hawke, as though they had any more idea than I do. "The way everyone looked at me in the camp, when we arrived. What have they been saying about me? They must think I'm worse than the Blight!" Hawke and Isabela exchange a worried look over my head.

I can't bear to stand still, suddenly; I need to move, to think. I step out of Hawke's embrace and start pacing, both hands combing frantically through my hair as I try desperately to make sense of this, to explain it to myself. "I've never hurt the clan! They had no reason to be afraid of me; none of this makes any sense. This... something is very wrong." They knew, when I left, that it was because of the eluvian, and because I had disagreements with the Keeper about it. And I know many of them were angry that I was trying to fix the mirror after what it did to Tamlen and Mahariel. I knew they didn't understand what I was trying to do, but that doesn't explain the way they looked at me, the way Pol looked at me, like... like he hated me.

Feared me.

He called me a monster, said he didn't want to leave with us because of... what I am.

_You don't know what she is. What she's done_!

Did he... did he know, about the blood magic? Is that why he was afraid? Does the whole clan know? They knew I was trying to fix the eluvian, but I didn't think they knew how. Only the Keeper knew exactly what I was doing, but... she wouldn't have told them. Surely. I knew she didn't approve, but at least she understood what I was trying to do, even if she didn't agree with me. If she told them about my blood magic, then that explains why they are acting so towards me, but... surely she wouldn't have told them. Would she?

_Wouldn't she?_

Even... even if she did, surely she would have told them why, at least; that I'm trying to help them. Everyone thinks blood magic is evil, but they're wrong. They don't understand that it's just another form of magic. Just a tool. It's the intention of the wielder that makes the use of it bad or good; the tool isn't good or evil by itself. They might not understand that, but surely... surely they know I would never hurt them...

Don't they?

I need to talk to Marethari. I have to know what she said to them about me, to make them so angry, so fearful, to make Pol despise me so. We need to get back to camp, now. I need to talk to her. I need to ask her why.

I stop pacing, and look up at Hawke, who watches me with concern as I meet her eyes pleadingly.

"I want to go back to the camp. I want to see the Keeper."

* * *

><p>xxx H xxx<p>

* * *

><p>"Alright, Merrill," I say softly as she gazes at me, the look of bewildered hurt in her eyes twisting my heart into a painful knot. "Let's head back."<p>

She nods and turns slowly towards Pol's body, reaching down and gently lifting an amulet identical to the others from around his neck. She rises, and glances back one more time at the fallen body of her clan mate, then turns to walk quickly out of the cavern. Isabela falls in step beside her, curling a supportive arm around her shoulders in a show of that sisterly protectiveness she reserves only for Merrill, and starts speaking to her softly in a low, soothing tone, though I can't make out the words. I hope she can help her. I move to follow them, wanting to walk on Merrill's other side, to be with her, but a firm hand on my arm draws me up short.

"Hawke. A word."

I turn to glance at Aveline questioningly, but she isn't looking at me; her eyes are on Merrill and Isabela as they step into the tunnel leading back up into the rest of the cave. She lets them draw a few dozen paces ahead of us, still holding me back, and then meets my eyes at last, motioning me to start following after Merrill and Isabela, though the pace she sets is deliberately slow. I frown suspiciously at her as we walk; it seems she has something to say to me that she doesn't want to be overheard. "What is it, Aveline?"

She glances over her shoulder at Pol's body behind us. "Does none of this feel... wrong to you?"

I gesture pointedly at the lifeless form of the varterral as we skirt gingerly around it. "Finding three dead elves and losing a fourth to a giant spidery rock-monster that then tried to kill us, too? Is there anything right about that?"

"You know exactly what I'm referring to," Aveline says shortly, narrowing her eyes at me. "This matter with Merrill and her mirror... Isabela told me that Merrill said it was an ancient elven artifact that she is trying to fix with magic, somehow, which to be honest I found worrying enough to begin with. But after this, after what that boy said to Merrill..."

I let my breath out sharply in annoyance. "Don't beat around the bush, Aveline. You know I hate it when you do that."

"Alright then," she says, her voice taking on a noticeable edge. "Hawke, does this mirror have something to do with Merrill's blood magic?"

I blink in surprise and stop short. Maker, she's perceptive. I consider what to tell her briefly, and then decide to go for honesty. I doubt I could fool her if I tried to deny it, anyway. "Yes. It does."

Aveline shakes her head a little, eyes narrowed, and I hasten to explain as I resume walking down the narrow tunnel, keeping my voice hushed and low, mindful of the echoing rocky walls around us. I don't want Merrill to overhear us; it would just upset her to know that Aveline still has doubts about her. Evidently whatever Isabela offered by way of explanation wasn't enough. I look Aveline in the eye, determined that she understand what Merrill is trying to do. "She has been using blood magic to fix the mirror. It's the only reason she took it up in the first place. It can help her people regain their heritage." We reach the base of the rickety stairs, and start to climb, hearing the faint ringing footsteps of Merrill and Isabela above us. "She says it was the only way she could mend it, and now she needs this arulin'holm tool thing to finish it off."

"She intends to use this tool for more blood magic, then?" Aveline asks sternly, frowning.

I feel a frown cross my features. "I... suppose so." I actually hadn't thought about it too much, didn't want to, I guess. I suppose when she said it was a special elven tool, I assumed it would be an ancient magical artifact of some sort. I wouldn't have thought the Dalish would hang on to something for so long if they thought it could be used in blood magic. But then, most magical items can be applied to a variety of purposes and schools. And... she did call it a blade when she asked the Keeper for it... "I guess I didn't really want to think too deeply about it."

"You just agreed to help her get it." Aveline states.

"I suppose... yes."

She sighs, and rubs at her forehead before turning her head to catch my gaze. "Hawke..." she begins, almost hesitantly. "Are you really sure you want to help her to acquire this tool?"

I feel my eyes narrow a little in confusion at her query. "Yes, of course," I answer cautiously after a moment. "She wants to help her people. Why shouldn't I help her fix the mirror, if it will help her to do that?"

"But will it? How much do you actually know about it for certain?" Aveline presses as we reach the top of the stairs and pass into the next chamber of the cave. "Can you really be sure that it's safe?"

My eyes automatically search for Merrill as we mount the short run of steps up to the rocky ledge above us. She's there, some paces ahead of us, Isabela still with an arm slung comfortingly around her. Merrill glances over her shoulder, looking for me, and I give her a warm, reassuring smile, wishing I was the one beside her, instead of being trapped here in what is rapidly becoming a very unsettling conversation. Merrill gives me a tiny smile in return before turning around again, and I look back at Aveline, who naturally hasn't missed the direction of my gaze. "Merrill says it's safe," I say, meeting her eyes firmly. "I trust her."

Aveline gives me a measured look. "But you're... involved with her, aren't you? There's something between you, certainly."

I nod slowly. She did notice; I was right. She really is observant. But why is it relevant to this? I frown at the troubled, slightly reproving look in her eyes; that look never bodes well for me.

She holds my gaze intently. "Then isn't it possible that you are letting your feelings cloud your judgement?"

I cock my head at her suspiciously, eyeing her sidelong. "What do you mean by that?" I ask warily, letting some of my frustration at this whole damn mess colour my voice a little.

"Think about it, Hawke," she says, calmly ignoring my dangerous tone. "If anyone else asked you to facilitate their use of forbidden magic, _blood magic,_ to restore an ancient magical relic that you know next to nothing about, would you do it?"

I rub my neck uncomfortably at her words. When she puts it like that...

Aveline doesn't fail to notice my agitation. "And I don't think I'm the only one uncomfortable about this," she continues determinedly, keeping her eyes fixed on my face. "You saw how the boy reacted when he saw Merrill. For lack of a less irreverent phrase, he was scared to death of her." Her eyes flick ahead towards Merrill and Isabela as we move through the cave after them, settling broodingly on the smaller form of the two. "From some of the talk I overheard, and the way the other elves behaved while we were talking to Marethari, Merrill's whole clan seem to be no less uncomfortable with her endeavour, even the Keeper. None of them seem to share her belief that this mirror will be of any help to them; quite the opposite, in fact. Doesn't that worry you?"

I stare at her in silence, at a complete loss for words. She saw it too; the glares, the angry muttering, the tense body language. And she's right; it did worry me, probably far more than I care to admit. But what exactly is she trying to suggest I do? I told Merrill I'd help her. I promised. I can't go back on that now, can I? She'd never forgive me if I did.

Aveline sighs softly after a moment, shaking her head. "You'll do what you feel is right, of course. But something about this is making me very uneasy. I have no doubt that Merrill doesn't believe the mirror is dangerous, but that doesn't mean she isn't wrong. Someone could get hurt, and it's most likely to be her. Is what she's trying to do truly worth such a risk?" She meets my stricken gaze pointedly. "Perhaps you shouldn't encourage her. That's all I have to say. Just think about it. I know I can trust that you will make the right choice, Hawke."

She moves on, and after a moment, I follow, my steps slow as my mind grapples frantically with our conversation, and everything she said to me.

_Someone could get hurt, and it's most likely to be her._

_I can trust that you will make the right choice, Hawke._

The right choice. It always seems to come down to that for me. Make the right choice. Do the right bloody thing.

I just wish to the Maker I knew what the right thing is.


	13. Chapter 13

_Next chapter. And the chapter after that, too. Didn't want to leave you hanging, and what with uni started again, I'm not too sure how often I'll get to write my own stuff. I'll make sure I will, of course, it might just be a little slower going. Thanks for sticking with me, peoples! Hope you like them. Oh, and if both Merrill and Hawke's thought processes get quite confused and start to not always make a lot of sense, then that's good. Because they are both confused, and can't make sense of anything. That's what I'm going for. I hope their not making sense makes sense, if you know what I mean. I could probably find a better and more eloquent way to express that thought, but... meh. This chapter is quite heavy going, but please bear with me, because the next chapter is much nicer, and should make everything better again, especially for anyone who doesn't like the rivalmance stuff (at least, I hope so), which is why I'm posting both. _

_I should be clear - I am using rivalmance stuff in my story for dramatic effect, but ultimately __this is not a rivalry romance__. I just didn't think a mage Hawke would have no difficulty in accepting the whole demon/blood magic thing; I believe her upbringing and teaching, among other things, would have given her a very one sided view of it, and so I am using some aspects of the rivalry romance path to reflect this, but again, ultimately I do not see this as a rivalry romance. And nothing says that Hawke won't change her mind! If you don't like how this chapter plays out, I'm afraid I will remain thoroughly unrepentant; because this is how the story goes in my head and I like it, but please read the next chapter too before getting angry with me! Chapter 14 should make everything better. Promise! Don't give up. I'll shut up now before I say too much._

* * *

><p>xxx M xxx<p>

* * *

><p>I can feel the glares of my clan burning like embers into my back as I walk back into the camp, back towards the Keeper, but I'm too drained, too tired and far too heartsick to care. They don't understand what I'm doing, and maybe they never will, but I'll never stop trying to help them, never. This isn't just about them, anyway. It's about all the Elvhen. Someone among the People will appreciate my work, when I'm finished, even if my own clan rejects me... hates me. But I still need to know why they feel as they do. What did Marethari say to them about me?<p>

Hawke walks up to stand before Marethari, and I step up beside her, Isabela and Aveline behind us.

"The varterral is dead," Hawke tells the Keeper calmly, her voice almost as blank as her expression. She's had such an odd look on her face for quite a while, now, ever since we came out of the cave. Maybe she's upset about what happened today, and she's trying to hide it? I can hardly blame her. This whole horrible mess has been so awful. I knew whatever we would have to do for the Keeper to get the arulin'holm would be hard, but... I never expected anything like this. So much death... I suppose I should be glad that it's over now, but it doesn't feel very much like we succeeded. We killed the varterral, but we still lost Pol.

The Keeper's eyes widen in surprise at Hawke's words, but she quickly recovers her composure. "Ma serannas," she says, smiling warmly at Hawke. "I'll breathe easier, knowing we will lose no more people to it."

I study her closely. She sounds genuinely grateful. Happy, even. Well, and I suppose she is, really, why wouldn't she be? We may have thwarted her attempts to stop my work by actually managing to finish her impossible task, so she'll be forced to give me the arulin'holm against her will, now, but at least the varterral won't kill anyone else. Of course she'd be relieved about that; I should not be so spiteful, no matter how much her lack of belief in me hurts. Her concern is always for the clan, and she always does what she believes is right for us all. Even though she is wrong about the eluvian, I should never doubt her dedication to the clan, and to our people. I just wish that she would not doubt mine.

I reach into my belt pouch and draw out the clan amulets we recovered in the cave, holding them tightly in my hand for a moment. _Radha, Harshal, Chandan. Falon'Din guide you all, my sister, my brothers._ I hand them to the Keeper sadly. "We found these..."

She takes them from me gently, carefully, her eyes filled with sorrow at our shared loss. "I'll return them to their families."

A fresh stab of sorrow rends my heart as I remember the promise I made before we left. I said we'd find Pol, and bring him back, but we failed. I failed. _I'm so sorry, Pol._ I give her his amulet last, and she looks down at it for a moment, the sadness in her eyes deepening as she realises what it must mean; that I am returning it to her care.

"We lost Pol," I tell her, feeling a lump forming in my throat at the memory. I blink rapidly as tears mist my eyes, determined not to let them spill as I recall the angry, hurtful words he threw at me before he ran. Why did he act that way? Why would he say such terrible things? I lift my gaze to the Keeper, determined to get some answers. "In the cave, he... he fled at the sight of me," I say, watching her carefully for her reaction. She shows no surprise at my words, and I feel a ball of miserable dread form in my chest, around my heart. She did say something to the clan. "He called me a monster, Keeper. He ran away from me. Straight into the varterral. He was..." My voice trembles a little. "He was terrified of me." Marethari remains silent, watching me, and I feel my temper break; wanting her to say something, anything, give me something to explain why; why Pol would call me a monster, why everyone is staring at me as though I am just that.

_A monster_.

"Why?" I demand angrily, pleadingly, desperately. "What reason could he possibly have to be so afraid of me, Keeper? To run into a varterral's lair rather than come with me to safety?"

Marethari gazes at me levelly. "Many of the clan fear you will bring back the corruption - or worse - from the mirror," she says, her voice calm.

"And where did they get that idea?" I ask angrily, though of course I already know, don't I? But it isn't fair. I know they are frightened of the mirror after what it did to Tamlen and Mahariel, but I was careful. I won't let it hurt anyone. There's no reason for them to be so mired in foolish fear. There's no reason for her to encourage it.

She almost looks surprised at my question. "I am their Keeper, da'len," she says, as though that should explain everything. "It was my duty to warn them. They believe you have become corrupted by your blood magic. They are afraid you will become possessed." She pauses, her face and voice suffused with sadness as she looks at me. "As am I, da'len."

_They believe you have become corrupted by your blood magic._ I feel my heart tear clean in two at her words. She... she told them. She told them about the blood magic, and combined their fears with her own mistaken beliefs about the eluvian as well, it seems. How could she? The clan never understood my reasons for working on it in the first place; I very much doubt the Keeper gave them my side of it, somehow. No wonder they're looking at me like that; they must only see a blood mage when they look at me now, not their First, nor even a clan sister. Not anymore. Why would she do this? Why would she need to 'warn' the clan about me? Doesn't she know I would never hurt them? I'd never let what I'm doing bring harm to anyone else! Doesn't anybody know that?

The Keeper's voice breaks through into my wretched thoughts. "It's still not too late for you to return to us," she says, her voice almost urgent as she pleads with me. "Reconsider - there's no need for you to live alone."

I stare at her incredulously. Return? How can she tell me that the clan is terrified of me, that she told them of my blood magic, and then in the next breath dare to suggest to me that I can still come back? They'll never accept me back, not now, not after what she's told them! Does she truly not see that? Or can really she believe the clan will take me back on her word alone, if she tells them I've given up my, my wicked ways? Repented my sins and bowed to her greater wisdom, coming to my senses at last? I close my eyes briefly, shaking my head a little in hurt and resignation. Perhaps that is what she thinks, at that. Well, that isn't what I want. And I don't need her or the clan anymore, not if this is what they truly think of me.

I lift my head and look at her, raising my eyes challengingly to meet her gaze. "I am not alone," I tell her firmly. "I have friends." I pause meaningfully. "And I have Hawke."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Hawke jump slightly and turn her head to look at me with a startled sort of look on her face. I suppose she didn't expect me to say anything to the Keeper. Maybe I didn't, before; not because I didn't want to, or that I was afraid of how she might react, not really, anyway. I just wanted to get the arulin'holm as quickly as possible without causing a bigger fuss than I already did just by coming here. It's different now, though. I'm sure the Keeper already suspects anyway; I can see the comprehension in her eyes at my words, just like when Isabela made that comment, before. But I'm not afraid to let her know, not anymore. She's already made her condemnation of me quite clear; I don't care what she thinks, now.

"You... have Hawke," Marethari says slowly, deliberately, holding my gaze. Her voice is completely devoid of emotion, which means that she is hiding what she truly feels, whatever that may be. It doesn't matter. I don't care. I don't need her approval. I don't. "I see. You are content to live out your life with this human and her companions, though it means you have abandoned your clan to do so."

My eyes widen, and I breathe in sharply at the unexpected blow. "I have not abandoned the clan! Must we go over this again? You'll never accept what I'm doing! You'll never believe that my work with the eluvian is for the good of all of us! All Elvhen! It is our knowledge, our history, that I am recovering! It is what Keepers are _supposed_ to do!"

The Keeper loses some of her composure at last. "The eluvian is poison, child!" she cries, her voice filling with a sort of desperate anger. "It killed Tamlen! It stole Mahariel! It led you to blood magic!" Her eyes flick from to Hawke, and then harden a little as she resettles her stern gaze upon me once again. "Will you let it twist you further from who you are?"

_What is that supposed to mean?_ I let my anger show in my expression as I glare at her coldly. "And who am I?" I leave her no time to give me an answer; I don't want one, anyway. I've had just about enough of this. It's time to end it, and get what I came for. "We've done as you asked. Honour our bargain," I demand sharply, my voice short and impatient. "Give me the arulin'holm!"

The Keeper stares at me, anger blaring from her eyes, and I feel a sudden thrill of nervous fear; not at her expression, I am long past fearing her disapproval at this point. But I am afraid; afraid that she won't keep her promise. I'm sure she never expected us to succeed, never intended to let me have the arulin'holm, after all; what if she refuses to give it to me? After everything we've done today, everything that's happened, I'm not certain I could take it. But I invoked Vir Sulevanan. We completed her task. She is a Keeper of Dalish lore, and she must honour my claim. She cannot deny me what I asked for, what I earned. She can't.

"Hawke," Marethari says commandingly as she turns to look at her. Hawke straightens, watching her cautiously. Marethari studies her in silence briefly before she speaks again. "I would speak with you alone for a moment, if you would indulge me."

Hawke blinks in surprise, and then looks at me, an unspoken question in her eyes. I can only stare back at her in bewilderment; I have no idea what Marethari is playing at. Whatever she's trying to do, I don't trust it... but I suppose Hawke can hardly refuse, can she? I don't know what the Keeper wants to talk to her about, but... she's crafty. I suppose she thinks Hawke will listen to her; she probably plans to try and tell her about how dangerous the mirror is, how it poisoned Tamlen and Mahariel, or about my blood magic, even. But I already told Hawke about that, anyway, and she understands, I know she does. Perhaps there's no harm in letting the Keeper talk to her. And maybe Hawke can convince her to give me the arulin'holm, if she goes with her.

I give her a small nod to show her that it is alright, and she turns to Marethari, inclining her head gracefully. "As you wish."

Marethari gestures to the crimson aravel standing proudly a little way off, the one all on its own by the smaller cooking fire. The Keeper's aravel. I know it well enough; I used to live in it once, after all. "If you will follow me to my aravel, child?" she says as she starts toward it, beckoning to Hawke with an air of imperious authority that must surely rival the Elvhen queens of old. "I wish to speak with you privately."

Hawke glances at me again uncertainly, and then follows after Marethari, ignoring the curious looks the rest of the clan give her as she walks slowly past them. I watch her go, feeling a little ball of anxiety start to form within me, growing steadily bigger the further away from me she gets.

"What do you think the Keeper wants with her?" Aveline wonders aloud, suspicion clear in her tone as her eyes track Hawke and Marethari across the camp.

Isabela shrugs indifferently. "Who knows? Maybe she just wants to get Hawke alone for a few minutes," she says, grinning at me. "Who can blame her, right, kitten?"

I smile half-heartedly at her, but I'm really not in the mood for her jokes, not right now. Especially not that sort of joke, about the Keeper wanting to be alone with Hawke... Mythal, no, the world will crumble into the Abyss if I even think about such a thing. I turn back and watch Hawke follow the Keeper inside the aravel, feeling my nerves returning just as fierce and prickly as they were this morning as I wait for Hawke to come back outside. I frown with worry, my anxiety mounting as the minutes crawl slowly by, and she still doesn't come out.

_In the name of the Creators, what is Marethari up to?_

* * *

><p>xxx H xxx<p>

* * *

><p>I duck and pass through the small doorway of the creaking wooden landship, my head almost brushing the red canvas ceiling as I straighten cautiously, suddenly feeling like a giant in the small, cramped space. And I'm not exactly tall to begin with. Aravels are certainly not made to accommodate humans, which in itself is something of a comment on the attitude of the Dalish towards us, I suppose.<p>

Marethari steps gracefully towards the opposite side of the aravel, bending to take something from within a tall, intricately carved cabinet built right into the back wall, and I push aside my concern over whatever she wishes to say to me to take a look around in fascination. How many outside the Dalish can claim to have seen the inside of an elven landship, much less that of a Keeper? There are only a few aravels in the camp, certainly not nearly enough for all of the elves to have one; so they must have to share them. I wonder if Merrill lived here, as the Keeper's First.

My eyes range over the walls and the floor as I take it all in. Everything is neat and tidy, and clearly arranged to make the best and most efficient use of the limited space. Twisting garlands of dried, woven flowers adorn the walls, infusing the air with a sweet clean scent; braided wreaths of elfroot, ebrium, Andraste's Grace. Small iron lanterns hang from each corner of the low ceiling, with crimson curtains, oiled and watertight against the threat of storms, covering the wide glassless windows and shielding the interior from the harsh glare of daylight. A narrow wooden shelf that appears to double as a crafting table is built along one wall, its surface cluttered in a orderly sort of fashion with the tools and ingredients for potion-making, and some ancient looking scrolls and books on magic and lore. I notice there are two bundled bedrolls tucked away beneath the table. I suppose they are brought out at night and laid in the open space in the middle of the aravel to sleep, before being tidied away the next morning. One bedroll seems to be covered in a fine layer of dust; suggesting it has neither been used nor touched in quite some time.

I lift my head as Marethari rises with something cradled in her hands, a small bundle carefully swathed in a white woven cloth. I peer at it curiously, but whatever it is, it's well wrapped; I can make out nothing of its form beneath the bindings. But this must be it; the thing Merrill's after, the tool we've come for. The arulin'holm. It's a lot smaller than I thought it would be.

Marethari turns to face me, her expression grim. "Hawke... because Merrill won't listen, I give this heirloom of our clan to you, for safekeeping," she says, calmly enough, but in the next breath her voice becomes urgent as her gaze locks onto mine, the sudden desperate look in her eyes piercing straight through me. "Please, don't let her do this. Don't let her destroy herself."

If she didn't have my complete attention already, she certainly has it now. _Destroy herself?_ I feel my eyes widen in shock at the fervent strength of her words, but she isn't done shocking me yet, not by a long shot.

She walks a few steps towards me with regal grace, holding my gaze with a serious, determined look; almost searing in its intensity. "As uncomfortable as it may be to admit it to myself; in light of what I have seen pass between the two of you today, it seems that you are the only one who may be able to convince Merrill to abandon this foolish path."

I stare at her, my mouth suddenly dry. "What do you mean by that?" I manage eventually.

She regards me in silence for a moment before speaking. "Child... I know there is something between you. You care for her. I can see it. And I know my Merrill." Her eyes harden almost imperceptibly as she glances away from me. "I would have thought she would have had more respect for her heritage than to give her heart to a human, but she has clearly done so."

I flinch a little before I can stop myself; I can't help but feel a stab of hurt at her words, though I can hardly claim to be surprised by her attitude. Marethari sighs, breaking out of her meditations, and turns her head slowly back towards me. "I suppose if it must be, then at least that human is you, young one," she continues, returning her gaze to my face. Her eyes widen, and then soften visibly as she looks at me, noting my expression. I suppose I must look rather like a kicked puppy.

"I do not wish to offend, Hawke," she says gently, apparently by way of apology. "I did not intend for my words to sound so harsh. Please understand. There are few enough of us as it is. The Dalish are meant to preserve who we are as a people, and this charge falls more heavily upon the clan Keepers than any other, as we must pass on the magic in our blood... if we are able." She looks away, her eyes growing pained and regretful for a moment, but she soon regains control of her expression, meeting my eyes once more. "In this, Merrill has forsaken her duty to us all. But... you are a remarkable person, and are without question a fine example of your race." She takes another step closer, lifting a hand in supplication, the cloth-wrapped bundle still held carefully in the other. "I speak of this to you now not to chastise, nor even to disapprove; but to warn. I believe that Merrill is in great danger from the eluvian. Did she tell you of the circumstances of its discovery? Why she needs this arulin'holm?"

"She told me two of your hunters found it, and it poisoned them," I say carefully after a moment, trying not to sound hurt and resentful as I attempt to sum up everything Merrill told me both accurately and concisely. "She said she wanted to restore the eluvian to try and help them, and to access the elven knowledge inside it, so she found a way to remove the corruption so that the mirror won't be a danger, using... using blood magic. She just needs the tool to finish it."

Marethari gazes at me levelly, her face composed, but I could almost swear I see a flash of triumph in her eyes. "Is that everything she said to you?" she asks quietly.

"I think those are the main points, yes," I tell her warily.

The Keeper gives a humourless smile of grim satisfaction. "Then she has not told you everything. She did not tell you the precise manner in which she 'found' a way to cleanse the shard." Marethari moves to stand by one of the windows, holding back the canvas curtain to afford us a view of the stark mountainside beyond. She raises her eyes to where the crown of the mountain disappears into the sky, waving a graceful hand in the direction of the peak. "High atop Sundermount there is a cave, within which lies a ruined temple dating back to the fall of Arlathan. Inside the temple there is an ancient idol, and bound within that idol... is a demon. A very powerful pride demon. We discovered the presence of the fiend when we first settled here upon the mountain." She pauses, and looks at me, poorly hidden accusation flaring briefly in her eyes. "When we came here to wait for you to come and complete your task for Asha'bellanar." I feel a twinge of guilt at the look in her eyes, but meet her gaze unapologetically; I did my best, after all. When I agreed to the witch's request, she told me that the clan was already waiting here on Sundermount, which meant that by the time I finally managed to come here, they had been waiting for over a year. I would have come sooner, had circumstances permitted me to leave Kirkwall, but serving with the Red Iron left us no time for such a trip. I came here almost as soon as I was free. At least I remembered. _Where is she going with this?_

"The demon called to Merrill, and myself, in our dreams, begging for release," Marethari continues after a moment. "I took her with me when I went to confront it at last, to forbid it from our minds. She was my First, after all. I wished to use it as an opportunity to teach her to guard herself from the touch of such beings." She closes her eyes, her voice becoming harsh with anger and regret. "By the Creators, I wish I had left her behind. I did not know then that Merrill had defied me and kept a piece of that cursed mirror, but the demon must have seen it in her mind. I believe that he offered to help her restore it in exchange for his freedom. She did not reveal this to me, of course, but there can be no doubt. I know that it was this pride demon, Audacity, who taught Merrill blood magic. She could not have learned it anywhere else, certainly not from me."

_A demon taught her._

I feel pressure on my chest, as though a giant hand is squeezing the air from my lungs, and I'm suddenly finding it hard to breathe. _A demon. Maker preserve us. Oh, Merrill._ I knew she used blood magic, but somehow... I just thought she discovered the power of it on her own, perhaps by accident, or from a tome or scroll. To hear that she actually dealt with a demon... This has to be why the clan is so afraid, why Pol said what he did to her, why he ran...

It must have influenced her, like the Keeper said. I felt the pull of the hunger demon's mind in the Deep Roads, when it tried to coerce us, to bind us to its will. It was so strong, so compelling. And that was only a hunger demon, weak and near powerless; Varric proved that easily enough when he killed the thing with a single shot. But this demon, this Audacity... whoever bound it here must have done it only because it was too powerful to be destroyed; and too dangerous to be allowed to roam free. Who knows the strength of such a being?

But... it can't possess her, not if it is bound as Marethari claims, or it would have done so already, long ago. Merrill is strong, I know that. She is as powerful a mage as I've ever met, with an iron will to match. Maybe she can use the demon to restore the eluvian without succumbing to the creature. But... should she? How much of what Merrill believes about the eluvian comes from its compelling touch on her mind?

I look doubtfully at the Keeper, feeling my anxiety mounting. "Merrill told me the eluvian contains the memories and knowledge of the ancient elves, knowledge that it is a Keeper's place to recover, to remember. Are you saying she's wrong about what it does?"

Marethari's eyes flash dangerously, her mouth twisting in rage. "He has filled her head with lies! The eluvian will not restore our people's greatness, and it will not bring Tamlen or Mahariel back to us. The demon will use Merrill to repair it, and then use it, and her, for his own foul purposes; whatever they may be." She breathes deeply, turning back to face me once she regains her calm demeanour.

"I do not know exactly what he intends to do, but I know that it can only end badly. You are a mage yourself, are you not? I need hardly explain the peril of bargaining with demons to you. I fear for Merrill. For her life... and for her soul. Please, child." She passes the bundled relic carefully into my waiting hands, looking up at me gravely as she does so, her eyes shining wetly. With tears. I stare at her in shock. "I will honour my promise, and give the arulin'holm to you for your efforts, but only because I trust that you will do the right thing."

_You will do the right thing._

The words echo through my mind, the voices of Aveline and Marethari blending together in my head, Guard-Captain and Keeper, voices of authority, responsibility, wisdom.

_You will make the right choice._

That is what I try to do, what I've always tried to do, but now... I'm not sure I know what the right choice is anymore. Is there even a right choice to be made?

"I understand that she may never return to the clan, given your... attachment, but if this is what must be, then I at least wish to know that she is safe," the Keeper says, stepping back. "If you truly care for her, you will not let her do this. Do not let her come to harm. Please."

She pushes back the canvas flap that serves as a door and steps outside, the wagon creaking faintly as she descends the steps to the ground. I remain for a few moments, perfectly still, gazing down at the bundle in my hands, and then I reach for the corner of the cloth, unwinding it slowly, reluctantly, almost unwillingly. But I have to see it, this thing Merrill needs, that the Keeper wants so desperately to keep from her. I can feel the magic of it; it resonates with power, but its abilities seem to be passive. It feels... like it's waiting, like it needs an active spell to be cast before it can do whatever it's meant to do. It must be an amplifier of some sort, designed to drastically intensify the power of any spell cast with it...

I unwrap the last layer and the arulin'holm finally reveals itself to my eyes. It is a simple little thing, really, wood and steel. A worn wooden handle, sized to fit the small, narrow hand of an elven crafter or enchanter, the gleaming surfaced decorated with intricate faded carvings and runes, worn smooth by use and the passage of time. Beautiful, in its own way.

The short, slightly curved blade of the arulin'holm glints wickedly as the sunlight catches on the silvery metal, gleaming along the honed edge, still razor sharp. I can imagine how easily the tool would serve its purpose, effortlessly carving deep grooves into soft, yielding wood.

_Or flesh._

An amplifier will make her blood magic stronger, but the more powerful the blood magic, the greater the chance of attracting a demon, any demon, not just the one bound in the statue. Likely a lot more than one, and just as strong. The danger Merrill will be in if she uses this...

_Andraste help me, what should I do?_

I stare at it blankly for a few moments more, before wrapping it up again carefully, and tucking the small bundle in the large leather pouch at my belt. Then I turn and leave, following the Keeper back out into the light.

* * *

><p>Merrill's eyes light up when she sees me walking slowly back to her, and she smiles, her whole face brightening as she gazes at me. Which really isn't helping me in the least, right at this moment. <em>Maker.<em>

"What happened, Hawke?" she says as I reach her. She grasps at my arm. "Did she give you the arulin'holm?"

"I have it," I tell her, placing a hand on my belt pouch.

Merrill breathes a sigh of profound relief. "Thank the Creators!" she says, beaming up at me. "I thought... maybe she'd go back on her word."

I glance around at the elves still standing about the camp, watching us, and then look back at out little group, motioning for us to move with a jerk of my head. It's high time for us to leave before we really overstay our welcome. Besides, I can't stand the feel their stares on us any longer; raising the hairs on the back of my neck, boring into my skull. It's becoming somewhat irritating, to say the least.

"What did Marethari want, Hawke?" Merrill asks as she hurries up beside me, trying to match my long, quick strides. "Did she talk to you?"

_Yes. She told me everything. Everything you didn't._ "She did," I say, trying to keep my jaw from clenching at my resentful thoughts. _A pride demon. I knew something was amiss, but I never would have guessed... No wonder she didn't tell me the whole truth. Was she ever going to? _"She gave me the blade..." Merrill's eyes widen a little as she registers my slight but pointed emphasis of the word, "... to honour our deal. Then she begged me not to give it to you. Not to let you finish the mirror."

Merrill's eyes narrow slightly. "Of course she did. I thought she would try something like that. But... she did give it to you, though? The arulin'holm, I mean?"

I nod reluctantly, and she frowns a little, looking at me questioningly, clearly wondering why I haven't given it to her already. But I can't, not yet. After what the Keeper told me... I have some questions for her, and I need them answered before I can decide anything.

I stride in silence through the camp, Isabela and Aveline following behind me, and Merrill walking quickly by my side, watching me nervously. Only when we're well beyond the borders of the Dalish camp do I stop and turn to her. She gazes up at me with worried eyes.

"Merrill... what did the Keeper mean before, when she said that the mirror led you to blood magic?" I ask, giving her one last chance to tell me herself, in her own words, everything she held back from me before. "What is it you're not telling me?"

Merrill looks away from me, twisting her hands together. "I..." She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes and consciously lowering her hands to her sides as she prepares her explanation. I almost feel I don't want to hear it. "The shard I picked up was corrupted," she says eventually. Her eyes open slowly and she looks at me, pleading with me to understand. "I couldn't cleanse it without help. The Keeper refused. She said that it belonged to another time, and should be left there." She turns away from me again, rubbing a hand through her hair and looking anywhere but at me, deliberately avoiding my eyes as she continues. "So I found a... spirit. It gave me the power to purify the mirror through blood magic."

_A spirit. _Audacity is hardly a virtue that a benign spirit would embody. I remember I once thought that perhaps Dalish mages saw demons and spirits differently, but Marethari has set me firmly straight on that account. Merrill can't truly believe this being is a benevolent spirit, can she? Such spirits do not teach blood magic. _She still won't trust me with the truth._ I shake my head doubtfully. "I've never heard of blood magic "purifying" anything."

She finally looks at me, crossing her arms beneath her chest. "There's nothing inherently evil about blood magic," she replies defensively. "It's magic, like any other."

It isn't that simple, it can't be. Not from what I've seen. It's more... subtle, sinister, even for those who use it with the best of intentions. It's one of the many reasons why Father always warned me so strongly against it. "I don't believe blood magic is evil in itself. And I certainly don't believe you have to be evil to perform it. But my father told me that the use of it is like... like a drug. It becomes an addiction. There's something insidious about it, something that changes, corrupts, without ever being felt until it's too late. The more you use it, the more you want to use it, and the more you convince yourself you need to."

She fixes me with a determined stare. "Hawke, you said your father was trained in the Circle of Magi. Of course that's what they would have taught him about blood magic, but it's not true," she insists.

"He also taught me that it's demons who teach mages to use blood magic. Not simple spirits," I counter, gazing back at her challengingly. "Was the Circle wrong about that? Did a spirit teach you blood magic, or was it a demon?"

She stares at me for a long moment, eyes wide and unblinking. She doesn't respond to my question, which is answer enough. "The power that contaminated the mirror was too strong to be driven out by normal means," she says eventually, evasively, watching me with an apprehensive look. "If I had piles of lyrium lying about, I could have used that, but I didn't. I used what I had."

"And what you had was the offer of a demon. Did it tell you this was the only way?" She looks away from me, and I draw a deep, shaky breath. _Maker save me, how can I help you if you won't let me in?_ "Merrill, do you really want this? Is it worth restoring this mirror if it turns your clan against you? If you lose yourself in the process?"

Merrill lowers her head, closing her eyes. When she speaks, her voice is heavy with feeling. "You know what it's like to lose everything, Hawke. The People have lost so much. Not just our land and freedom, but history, stories, language, magic, rituals." She looks up at me sadly. "Even our gods are gone! It is a sacrifice, but if the mirror restores even one fragment of the past... it's worth it."

_I fear for Merrill. For her life... and for her soul._

No. I do know what it's like to lose everything. I can't do it again, I'll never survive it. I can't lose her. I won't. "No, it isn't," I say quietly. "Not if the sacrifice is you. Nothing is worth that. Merrill, please... I just think... maybe you need to stop this. Everyone else seems to be terrified of this mirror of yours. Maybe you should be, too."

Her eyes grow unbelievably wide as she stares at me, and a look of deep, incredulous hurt flashes across her face. "You're... you're siding with the Keeper?"

"I'm listening to the advice of an older and far more experienced mage," I tell her quickly. _Maker, please just hear me out._ "Please, Merrill, please listen to me. The eluvian is ruining your life! And trusting to the aid of a demon? It's too dangerous." I reach out to her, but she steps back, pulling away from me with a look of wounded betrayal, and I drop my hand in defeat. "Merrill, please!" I plead desperately."Let me help you. We can find another way. You don't want to do this."

Her beautiful face contorts in anger. "Yes," she says fiercely, her voice low and furious. "I do. I need to do it. There is no other way. Don't you think I've looked? I know what I'm doing, Hawke." She folds her arms across her chest, glaring at me with an expression I've never seen from her before; at least, never directed at me. She's livid with rage, because of me. "Give me the arulin'holm," she demands.

I hesitate, torn. Maybe Aveline was right; I can't just give her the thing blindly, just because of how I feel about her. But how can I keep it from her? Maker, I don't know what to do. There are so many conflicting thoughts whirling and clamouring in my head...

_She said the mirror wasn't dangerous. She promised. She wouldn't lie._

_It isn't lying if she believes it. She could be wrong. Is the mirror truly safe, or does she believe it is simply because she wants it to be true? The Keeper herself begged me not to help her finish the mirror. She begged me, with tears in her eyes. A proud, wise Dalish clan leader, begging a human to stop the reconstruction of a piece of elven heritage. What would drive her to that?_

_Merrill says she knows what she's doing. She wants to help her people._

_She only knows what the demon told her. Demons lie. It can only want one thing from her._

_She is strong; she can resist._

_She opens herself further to the risk of possession with every drop of her blood that she spills. No one is strong enough to resist forever. No one._

_She doesn't need to resist forever. She won't need blood magic once the mirror is complete. She says the arulin'holm will help her fix it faster._

_Because she will use it to perform more powerful blood magic. She will put herself in unbelievable danger of being possessed, of becoming an abomination, and there won't be a thing I can do to stop it. To save her. Unless I stop her now. _

_I promised to help her get this. I'd do anything for her._

_Even if it means she'll get hurt? Possessed? Who will have to strike her down if that happens? Could I do it? Don't give it to her._

_If I keep it from her, it will hurt her badly._

_If I let her have it, she'll be hurt far worse in the end. Broken. Possessed. Destroyed._

_She will hate me for it._

_But she will be alive. She'll be safe. Isn't that more important than anything? Don't let her do this. Don't let her destroy herself._

I make my decision.

I cross my arms in a mirror image of her own forbidding stance and match her stare for stare. "No. I'm sorry, but I can't. I'm keeping it. I can't let you do this."

Her body visibly jerks as though my words struck her like a blow. The look of hurt disbelief that crosses her features is quickly replaced by one of fury, and her chest rises and falls rapidly as she stares at me. "You're keeping a priceless heirloom of my clan? You have no right! You're not Dalish! You're not even an elf!" The anger in her tone turns to desolation, and she looks up at me through watery eyes. "I thought you... I thought we... Creators, I'm a fool. I can't believe you, why did I trust you? You're just a shemlen like all the others! I..." My heart twists in agony as she bursts into furious tears. "How could you?" she sobs brokenly, lifting her hand to dash the tears from her face as they spill wetly down her cheeks, and my heart shatters into a million jagged pieces. _Maker, what have I done to her?_

Merrill turns abruptly and breaks into a run, so fast that she's almost out of sight before I can even react. I try and run after her but Isabela catches my arm in a crushing grip, her sharp nails digging into my skin through my sleeve. I look at her and she glares back at me, her eyes angry.

"Hawke. Let her go. Give her a bloody minute alone."

I pull against her grip, prying desperately at the strong fingers clenched around my upper arm as Merrill disappears around a bend in the trail to the city. "Let me go!"

She tightens her grasp mercilessly. "No."

"Let me _go_, Isabela!"

"No! What the bloody Void was that, Hawke?" She gives my arm a furious shake, bringing her face in close to mine, her eyes burning into me like molten gold. "What are you playing at, keeping that thing? Isn't that why we came here in the first place, to get it for her? After everything that's happened to her today, you go and upset her like this? Why?"

I stare at her, fumbling for words. "I-I couldn't let her... it's too dangerous, what she's doing-"

Her face hardens and she pins me with an incredulous glare. "Then why agree to get it for her at all?" she demands angrily.

She doesn't understand. She didn't hear what Marethari told me. "I didn't know..." I flounder suddenly as all my reasoning dissipates under her condemning stare. But didn't she hear what Merrill said just now? "She didn't tell me there was a demon involved!" I argue, the pleading tone in my voice sounding childish even to me. I take a breath, trying to calm myself, trying to be rational while my heart weeps inside me. _How could you? _"I had to hear it from Marethari instead. She dealt with a pride demon, Isabela. Don't you know what that means? What could happen to her if I let her go through with this?"

"The right thing isn't necessarily the easiest. I believe Hawke made the correct decision, as difficult as it was," Aveline says from behind us, her tone firm.

Isabela scoffs, shooting her a look of deep disgust. "Of course you'd bloody think so, you're just afraid of anything you can't oppress with the threat of a night in the brig or a day in the stocks, and that goes double for magic."

"_Blood_ magic and demons - as disturbing as that revelation is - aside; that mirror of hers is dangerous," Aveline replies evenly, refusing to be baited. "Her entire clan thinks so, even Marethari. She must have more wisdom on the subject than anyone."

"She's just a stodgy old bat," Isabela says dismissively, ignoring my renewed attempts to pull free from her. "Merrill isn't hurting anyone, and she never would!"

"Not intentionally, true," Aveline allows stoically. "But that doesn't mean someone won't come to harm regardless."

Isabela releases my arm, stalking angrily towards the Guard-Captain. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You heard the Keeper as well as I did, I'm sure," Aveline says unflinchingly as Isabela halts mere inches from her, staring heatedly into her face. "She said the mirror killed one of the clan, and poisoned someone else. And now Merrill is trying to rebuild something that dangerous in the middle of the city. I have no doubt she doesn't believe she'll hurt anyone, but the fact remains; she's putting herself and the people of Kirkwall in danger..."

Her voice fades into the distance as I take the chance offered by their distraction and start running. I don't wait around for Isabela's reply; I don't care to hear it, or anything more of their argument; I just run, flying down the trail to back to Kirkwall at breakneck speed, sprinting after Merrill as fast as I can, to explain, to argue, to beg forgiveness, I don't know, Maker only knows, but I have to find her. I have to. Andraste, she's fast. I can't see her ahead of me on the path, but I can see her face in my mind; her anger, her hurt; hear her voice in my head, shaking with her tears.

_How could you?_

I try to run faster, but I can't get away from it; her broken anguish sounding over and over again, assailing my thoughts relentlessly, tormenting me.

_How could you?_

* * *

><p>xxx M xxx<p>

* * *

><p><em>How could she?<em>

Another tear runs down my cheek and falls, splashing into the basin beneath me as I sit by the hearth, washing Pol's blood from my feet, from my hands, the tiny droplet of misery sending ripples across the reddened water. The light from the fire that I lit with a furious, careless fireball when I came in makes the liquid in the bucket seem thicker, somehow; thick and deeply crimson. My reflection stares mournfully back at me from the dark surface of the water. It looks as though my face is bathed in blood. That's what everyone sees, when they look at me, it seems. Everyone.

Even her.

I thought she understood. I thought... Mythal, I'm such an idiot.

Maybe... maybe I should have told her about the spirit before, but... I didn't think I would have to. I never thought she'd figure it out. She doesn't understand. I know it's dangerous to trust Fade spirits, of course I do, but I'm not an infant. I can use it, I can! Some things are worth any risk. And she has dealt with such a spirit herself, before! How can she lecture me for doing the same?

The door bursts open suddenly and Hawke stumbles out of the darkness beyond it, panting, out of breath, her clothing dishevelled, hair mussed and hopelessly tangled, face sheening with sweat. And yet she somehow manages to look more beautiful than ever. Creators, the world is so unkind.

The door swings shut behind her as she stands there, staring wordlessly at me, gasping as she tries to catch her breath. Why has she come here? What does she think I'll do; let her harangue me some more about the blood magic, like Anders, like the Keeper, and then what? I'll repent tearfully, and promise to stop, and never do it again? I know what I'm doing! How dare she keep the arulin'holm from me, as though I were nothing more than a foolish, misbehaving child? I rise, the embers of my anger kindling into a fearsome blaze; I feed it my rage, my despair, my deep, wrenching hurt and it fills me, sears me, consumes me as I turn on her, fury scorching from my eyes and my voice. I've never felt so angry, so wounded. So betrayed. This is worse than hearing Pol call me a monster, worse than the Keeper admitting to telling the clan of my blood magic; far, far worse.

"How could you do that to me?" I throw the words at her furiously. "How could you steal a priceless relic of my people?" She says nothing, still trying to slow her breathing, and I force my bitter, angry words past the rising lump in my throat as I stare at her. "I trusted you!" _Why did you do it? How could you?_

Her eyes flash dangerously, and she matches my heated tone."Not completely, it seems. You said nothing about a demon teaching you to fix the mirror." I freeze at the look of hurt that appears in her eyes. Is that really why she's so upset? Or is it more to do with me not telling her about it? I won't feel guilty for that, I won't; I knew no one would understand, if I tried, and I was right, wasn't I? Demon, spirit, by either word they are the same. Neither are good or bad, and they are all dangerous, I know that, but the risk is worth it, it is. She doesn't understand. I try to look away, but she moves with my gaze, forcing me to look at her. "Demons never give anything freely," she presses relentlessly, angrily, her blue eyes blazing fiercely as they burn into mine. "What does it want from you? What deal did you make?"

I hold her eyes, refusing to flinch; I will not be cowed. I won't. I know what I'm doing. "He wants freedom, that's all. He'll help me repair the eluvian, and then I will help him get free. I'm being careful, Hawke!" I shake my head angrily as she gives me a disbelieving look. _Why does everyone doubt me?_ "Why are you so against this?" I demand furiously. "You have dealt with a spirit before, in the Deep Roads!"

Hawke takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Yes, because we had no other way out. And only because I knew we would have all died for certain, if I had not agreed to its... offer," she replies, trying unsuccessfully to keep her voice calm. "And because when you told me it was nothing to fear, I trusted your advice; I thought perhaps that Dalish mages knew something about spirits and demons that I did not." She gives a humourless laugh. "But Marethari set me well straight on that point. The hunger demon betrayed us in the end, if you remember, yet you still have faith in this Audacity, a pride demon, of all things?" My eyes widen as she speaks the name. I thought she guessed about how I learned blood magic, about the spirit. How could she know its name?

Hawke notices my look, and her eyes harden a little. She looks hurt again. "The Keeper told me all about it, Merrill. She told me everything you didn't." The injured expression in her eyes intensifies as she gazes at me. "If you really thought I would be comfortable with your deal, why wouldn't you just have told me about it from the start? You must have thought what you were doing was wrong, deep down, if it made you want to hide it from me. Or did you just not trust me enough to tell me the truth?"

Elgar'nan... The Keeper told her. She knows. The Keeper knows about Audacity, and she told Hawke. I remember her fury when she first caught me with the shard, caught me using blood magic on it, but I never told her how I learned to cleanse it, though... I suppose I should have known the Keeper would realise who... what... it was that taught me. Creators, I... I can see what it must look like to Hawke, but it's not what she thinks. I can handle myself. The spirit wants to be free from the stature, and I believe him, but I'm a complete idiot; if he wants anything more... well, I will be prepared to defend myself. I would never willingly let a spirit possess me. I am not as foolish as Anders.

"I thought..." I begin, and I can't stop myself from shooting an angry glare in her direction. "I thought, with the arulin'holm, I could fix the mirror myself, and then free the spirit without anyone knowing and so... I didn't see the need to worry you." I laugh harshly, bitterly. "That was a mistake, obviously. Now Marethari's fear has poisoned you against me."

"Marethari is not just afraid of the demon, she's afraid of the mirror itself, and the harm it could cause, to others and to you," Hawke argues, stepping forwards. I cross my arms and stand my ground as she approaches me. "Surely her judgement is worth something to you?"

_And what of my judgement? Isn't that worth anything to you?_ "She fears the old ways, because she is afraid of anything she doesn't understand," I tell her, staring up furiously into her face, frustrated indignation filling me. "She should know better; as Keeper, it is her duty to try to recover old knowledge. This eluvian is a gift to our people, I cannot simply throw it away. I will not."

"You said yourself that the mirror poisoned your clan mates before it was broken. What if you fix it, and that power is awakened again? Or what if the demon possesses you the instant you release it? Merrill, please. Listen to me. The Keeper herself gave this priceless relic into my care rather than let you use it. Me, a human. A shemlen." Her mouth twists as she voices the word, the curse that I threw at her on the mountain. "She begged me not to let you do this." Her voice becomes desperate. "She begged, Merrill. Can't you understand how frightening that is? I'm trying to help you! Your obsession with this mirror got you exiled from your people and turned you to blood magic." A pained look comes over her face, and she reaches out to touch my arm. "It's ruining your life! Please, let it go."

I brush her hand aside angrily. I can't think when she touches me, I don't want her to touch me, or hug me, or... or anything. If she does, I might not be able to stand it; I might just forgive her, and I don't want to forgive her. I'm too angry. And she's _wrong!_ "Blood magic and exile were my choice," I say fiercely, forcefully. "The eluvian had nothing to do with it!"

She blinks in hurt at the rejection, and then narrows her eyes in apparent confusion as she registers what I said. She shakes her head at me. "That doesn't make sense! It has everything to do with it! You said you needed help to fix the eluvian, so you turned to a demon-"

"A spirit!" I interrupt her angrily. It's pointless to argue over using two terms for Fade creatures, but the way she uses the word 'demon' is so weighted, so slanted. When she says it she thinks of something evil, corrupt, and malicious, but that is not how it is, not really. Spirits are not to be trusted, I_ know_ that, but I am not dealing with 'evil'. Those who dwell in the Fade are beyond our understanding, but that does not make them bad. But that is what most people believe, and after all, if everyone believes it, why then, of course, it must be true, mustn't it! I shouldn't argue, it's pointless, but I just... I can't leave it be.

Hawke exhales crossly at my exclamation. "Call it what it is! A pride demon; the most powerful and treacherous type of bloody 'spirit' in existence." I open my mouth to argue again but she cuts me off quickly, a look of anger in her eyes; anger, and maybe... fear? Not fear of me, though, like the clan, but... fear on my behalf. She is afraid... for me.

_She shouldn't be. I can take care of myself!_

"A demon who taught you blood magic," Hawke continues, fixing me with her blazing eyes. "If it weren't for the eluvian, you wouldn't have ever needed blood magic at all!"

I pause as my mind processes her words. She... she is not wrong. But... but it changes nothing. The eluvian is here, and I will restore it. However I can. I meet her gaze. "You and the Keeper may not like it, but I chose this path with my eyes open."

Her eyes screw shut at my words, and she bites down hard on her lip. When she finally looks at me again, her face is filled with sadness. "Merrill... the path you've chosen doesn't just affect you. It affects everyone around you, everyone who... who cares for you." My eyes widen as a tear falls from her eye, glinting in the firelight, leaving a wet silver trail down her cheek until she reaches up to wipe it angrily away.

I'm not moved. I'm not. I won't let myself be. "Care? Like you care for me? How could you do this, if you really care so much?" I feel tears well in my own eyes, and I banish them fiercely; I won't cry in front of her again. "Why would you hurt me like this?"

Hawke gives a quiet, agonised cry almost under her breath. "Because I don't want to see you hurt worse! Can't you see? It's because I care for you so much that I can't let you do this to yourself. Using blood magic is too dangerous! The mirror is too dangerous! Let it go, please!"

I draw in a hissing breath through my teeth. I am so sick of hearing that, over and over again, it is driving me mad. "It's not dangerous!" I manage to grind out angrily, glaring up into her face. _Why won't you listen to me?_ "I cleansed the corruption!"

She gazes back at me levelly. "You said you _tried_ to cleanse it."

"I made it safe!" Must she pick apart my every sentence? How is it she remembers everything I've said to her so exactly? I stare with fierce, angry longing at the leather pouch on her belt. She has it, it's right there, I know it is! It's so _close_... "I could have made absolutely sure of it with the arulin'holm!"

"And blood magic," Hawke says quietly, calmly, but the disapproval in her tone is clear. It's infuriating.

My eyes snap to hers, and I bristle wrathfully. "It's just magic! It's only a tool. It's no more good or evil than a hammer or a sword!" She told me herself she didn't believe it was evil. How can she still be so close-minded? How can she think I'd ever let it corrupt me? She thinks I'm weak, just like the Keeper. She must. She thinks I'm just a foolish child, trying to play with fire because it's pretty, without thought or understanding of the danger, and so she's reacting accordingly; with a restraining hand on the scruff of my neck, holding me back out of reach of the flames. A wilful, foolish child. My shoulders slump, and I stare at her bleakly. "I thought you would understand." I shake my head, defeated once again by my own foolishness. "I can't believe I've been such an idiot, believing you'd help me." I can't take this. I can't look at her anymore. "Go, Hawke! Just go. Leave me. I'd rather be alone."

I try to ignore the look of hurt I see in her eyes as I turn away from her, and squash the stab of remorse that pierces me at her desolate, miserable expression. _What right has she to make me feel guilty, when she wounded me so badly?_ I won't feel guilty, and I will not apologise. I'm tired. Tired of hearing the Keeper's diatribe coming from Hawke's mouth; tired of defending myself to the one person, the only person I thought for certain understood; tired of feeling this way; so angry, so hurt. So heartbroken. I'm just... tired.

I walk away from her, stalking into my bedroom, staring at the eluvian in the corner. After a few moments of silence, I hear her quiet footsteps as she walks across the floor, hear the door creak open and then close softly behind her as she leaves, and I'm alone. All alone, now, just as I wanted. I stand in front of the useless broken mirror for a long time, fuming, and then step towards it slowly. If she won't give me the arulin'holm, then I'll just have to do my best without it. It's all I have, now.

I draw my belt knife and slash it fiercely across my palm, directing the warm red flow into the dull, cracked surface of the mirror with an odd sense of vengeful satisfaction. The eluvian throbs as it drinks in my gift, the surface rippling ever so slightly, and a soft, almost musical tone rings softly in the air. I make another cut alongside the first, deeper this time, ignoring the sting of pain, and the note sounds louder, clearer, as the mirror absorbs my power, my blood. My life.

It feels like... it's calling to me, singing to me. Comforting me, almost. It still feels like it's sleeping, unaware... but still, there's something about it, this time, as though I've done something differently, as though this time, my blood was somehow more effective. The blood I spilled in anger, in fury, in rage. In revenge.

The eluvian throbs again, and now I'm certain; it definitely feels different. It feels more powerful, like a trapped tempest, a bottled storm. The wrath of the Elvhen, raging beneath the glass.

It feels different.

It feels... alive.

* * *

><p>xxx H xxx<p>

* * *

><p>"It's been three bloody days, Hawke."<p>

Isabela's muttered comment, soft as it is, echoes through the cave loudly. I stop my careful scan of the small cavern's dusty floor and eye her warily, while behind her Varric and Fenris turn to look at us; Fenris with patient, although slightly brooding tolerance, and Varric with an inquisitive and eager interest, likely hoping for fuel for his stories. Or expecting to overhear something more about me and Merrill, perhaps. By the morning after our misadventure on the mountain, the tale of what had transpired between us both before and after going to Sundermount had spread like wildfire among the rest of my friends, no doubt thanks to our resident storyteller. I'm certain it made for a dramatically entertaining piece of gossip; the temptation must have been irresistible. Isabela can't withhold anything from Varric, apparently. Sometimes I half suspect there's coin involved. Privacy is a luxury I will never be able to indulge in, or so it seems.

Isabela fixes me with a reproving gaze, still unhappy with me over the incident with the arulin'holm. At least she's still willing to speak to me. "You still haven't been to see her again, have you?"

"I tried. I did try," I tell her, rubbing my forehead tiredly. "I came back the next morning after she made me leave, but she wouldn't open the door. She wouldn't even speak to me. I know she was there; the woman who tends the stall outside her house told me she hadn't come out since... since we returned from the Dalish camp."

"But you haven't tried again?"

I look away. "I can't."

She makes a quiet noise of disgust. "Coward."

"I know," I whisper, then turn hesitantly to look at her. "Have you... have you been to see her? Is she... alright?"

"She's crushed, Hawke." I flinch at the words, at the accusation in her tone."Angry, confused, betrayed and hurt. Does that sound alright to you?"

I throw my hands up helplessly. "What do you suggest I do, Isabela? I just don't want her to hurt herself, but when I tried to explain that night, she wouldn't listen. She told me to leave. What am I supposed to do?"

"Why do people keep insisting on making their love lives my responsibility?" Isabela asks wearily of no one in particular. "This is why I don't do emotions. Far too messy." She looks at me, and her voice softens just a little. "Just go talk to her again, Hawke. Try, at least."

"She doesn't want to talk to me," I remind her despondently.

Isabela crosses her arms. "Oh, so now you're going to base your actions on what she wants?" I stare at her, unable to form a reply, and she rolls her eyes at me. "So you had a fight. So what? You'll never get past it if you don't talk to each other. You two need to bloody sort this out, already; you're both completely miserable and no fun at all, at the moment. And frankly, I'm getting bored of all this angsty lover's quarrel nonsense. Give her the stupid knife, if that's what she wants."

I shake my head. "I can't. It's too dangerous."

Isabela makes a small sound of frustration. "So? She's no child, Hawke," she says, and then smiles wryly. "She's certainly made that clear to me, if not you. Although honestly, I would have thought you would have been aware of that already, considering how you feel about her. Unless there's something I'd really prefer not to know about you, of course."

I ignore her feeble and rather revolting jest, though I can't refrain from shooting her an irritated glare."I know she's not a child, but using blood magic to fix the mirror is dangerous enough as it is. If I let her use the arulin'holm to make it stronger... it's just too great a risk." She cares about Merrill too, like a little sister. Shouldn't she want to keep her safe as much as I do? "Surely you don't really think what she's doing is actually a good idea?"

She sighs patiently. "That's not the point. It doesn't matter what I think about it, or what anyone else thinks, either. I certainly don't pretend to know much about magic of any sort, but if you just make the decision for her, how is that fair?" She lifts an eyebrow at me pointedly. "You might as well have her locked up in the Gallows. Everyone should be free to make their own choices. Don't you think?"

I open my mouth to protest and then close it slowly, realising I have no argument to counter her. I... hadn't thought of it that way. _Damn it, is she right?_ _Am I being as bad as all that? _"Since when are you so bloody full of wisdom?"

"I have my moments. And I've been around, you know."

"However, er... well travelled you may be, perhaps you should nevertheless refrain from prying into Hawke's personal business," Fenris says dryly. "If she no longer wishes to keep the company of the witch, then that is her affair. It may be better for us all, were you not to interfere."

I glance at him warningly, aggravated by his words, his derogatory tone. Isabela, usually content to meet such scornful comments from him with dry humour, also bristles in annoyance at his slight of Merrill.

"Could we do without your magic-hatred, just this once?" she says, throwing him an exasperated glare. "Hawke is a mage too, in case it's slipped your mind."

"Hawke is... not like others of her kind. And we are discussing a blood mage," Fenris replies levelly, regarding her with his customary cool, controlled demeanour. "You encourage Hawke to nurse a viper to her chest. Sooner or later, it will strike."

I feel the last vestiges of my thin veneer of calm dissipate abruptly. _That's it._ "Enough, Fenris. Merrill is not a viper, or a witch, and she doesn't deserve your contempt. She's saved your life more times than I'm sure you care to remember," I tell him angrily, although with more force than I intended. "The least you can do in return is to keep your spiteful, unprovoked remarks to yourself. I'm in no mood to tolerate them today."

"This would be the part where you start backing away slowly, elf," Varric advises quietly from the sidelines. "I'd also suggest nodding and smiling, but I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

"I am deeply touched by your concern," Fenris replies gravely, his deep, gravelly voice calm, though slightly tinged with wry amusement. He turns to me, inclining his head with unconscious grace. "Forgive me, Hawke," he says with sincerity, his voice unusually gentle. "I apologise for my thoughtless words. It is not my place to comment on your decisions, or with whom you choose to... ah, interact. I did not intend to cause you undue distress."

I sigh. "I know, Fenris." From all he has confided to me about Tevinter magisters and his own master in particular I can understand his aversion towards mages and magic, but I simply have neither the heart nor the patience to deal with it today.

I turn away from all of them and resume searching the ground for this tome mentioned in Idunna's letter. Admittedly, seeking out scattered books on blood magic written by a crazed blood mage, at the behest of another blood mage prostitute who tried to force me to kill myself is probably not the best way to take my mind off things, but I needed to get out and do something other than simply continue to wallow in misery at home. I needed to get away from the look of concerned understanding on Mother's face every time she sees me. Perhaps it's childish to feel this way, but I'm not certain talking with her about it would be of much help to me. Not that she wouldn't be supportive, or perhaps even offer an alternate perspective on my situation. I know she wants me to talk to her. Mother could clearly see that something was wrong when I returned from Sundermount alone, but thankfully she didn't press me about it. I was pathetically grateful for her tact. I didn't want to have to explain to her why I didn't... why I didn't bring Merrill home for dinner, as I told her I would. That, I would not have handled well. But I know that sooner or later, she is going to give in and ask me about it, and, well... I intend to put it off for as long as possible. After all, how can I explain what happened without divulging everything about Merrill's blood magic, about her tainted mirror, and the Maker-cursed demon? I can just imagine how well that conversation would go. I'd much rather keep her in the dark.

Speaking of which...

I spot a small, mouldy black book on the floor of the cave, almost hidden in the deepest shadows. "There. Looks like we found what we came for."

"About damn time," Varric mutters. "I've had enough of crawling about underground in the Bone Pit; it reminds me too much of the sodding Deep Roads. The sooner we're out of here, the better."

"Agreed," Fenris concurs. "I cannot help but feel... ill at ease, in this place." He casts his sombre gaze slowly about the cavern. "Many slaves died here. Their cries linger in the stone."

I pick Tarohne's blood magic tome up off the ground and instantly regret it when the bloody thing starts poking into my mind, just like the others, offering power in return for allowing its wretched existence to continue. I hiss in irritation. I'm in no mood for it. It's going to get the same as its brethren. The same as its lunatic author.

I toss the thing back down to the ground and cast a fireball at it, burning the book of blood magic secrets, scorching it, reducing it to cinders, staring at the fire without feeling the heat at all.

I continue to gaze morosely into the flames as the vellum pages blacken and curl, repeating my conversation with Isabela over and over in my mind. Was she right? Is it wrong for me to take away Merrill's freedom of choice in this matter? I'm certain there's a flaw in her reasoning somewhere. Letting Merrill make her own choices is all very well, but if I saw her about to leap off a cliff because she was convinced that she could fly, would Isabela still tell me I should let her fall, because it was her choice to make? It seems much the same thing, to me.

But is it? I'm... not certain, anymore.

An elbow suddenly collides sharply with my stomach, and I gasp, winded.

"Hey, hero! Wake up! What's wrong with you?"

I look down at Varric, who shakes his head at me half in irritation, half in amusement. I notice he's gripping Bianca tightly in his hands. And Fenris is covered in blood splatters. What the-

"You missed the party," Varric says as he holsters his crossbow, waving a hand behind him. I follow his gesture and then stare in shock as I register the blood and gore coating the walls of the cave and the countless carcasses of demons, shades and abominations that litter the floor. I stand, frozen in surprise and not a little embarrassment, gazing around at the carnage. They must have appeared right after I burned the book. How did I manage to be completely oblivious to a fight like this?

"Get over to Merrill's, Hawke," Isabela says, glancing up at me in wry amusement as she wrenches her dagger from the eye of an abomination right behind me, wiping the blade distastefully against the thing's cloth wrap before sheathing it and rising in a graceful, fluid movement. "As soon as we get back to Kirkwall, you're going to go and talk to her. Tonight. You're absolutely useless like this."

I can't argue with that.

I turn and lead the way towards the mouth of the cave, back into the miners' encampment, lost again in thought and nervous fear. What if she still won't see me? Perhaps I shouldn't give her the option of refusing to let me in. She has never once locked her door, even after three years. I suppose there was never much need for locks among the Dalish, and somehow she has never lost that innocent trust. Unless of course I've managed to break her of it, now. I cringe at the thought, and find my steps quickening the closer we draw to Kirkwall, narrowing my eyes against the red glare of the setting sun, the towering stone walls of the city come into view as we walk around a bend in the road.

I have no idea what I'm going to say to her. Maybe... maybe I can offer to help her find some other way to fix the eluvian? She didn't listen the last time I tried, but then, she wasn't really in a state to hear me, I suppose. I hope she will let me talk to her this time.

Maker, please, just let her listen.

* * *

><p><em>Just go in. Open the flaming door and go inside.<em>

I stand on her doorstep, frozen in place but shaking with nerves. I tried to think of what to say to her on the way back to Kirkwall, but I came up with nothing. Not a damn thing. And now I'm here. Andraste, what am I going to say to her? Will she even listen to me?

_You won't find out if you stand out here all night. Get in there, already._

I push gently at the door, and just as I thought, it isn't barred. I open it slowly, trying not to let it creak. She can't stop me from coming in if I'm already inside.

She isn't in the main room, though the fire is lit in the hearth. She is here, then. Suddenly I hear her voice, low and furious, coming from her bedroom.

"Oh, may the Dread Wolf take you, you worthless hunk of glass!" I cringe at the bare fury in her voice. This is likely not the ideal time for me to show up uninvited. I don't think this is going to go well, somehow. Well, I can't back out now. I won't.

I move quietly up to the open doorway and look inside, feeling my heart flip in my chest as I see her there; standing in front of the eluvian with her back to me, her arms folded irately across her chest. I start nervously as she suddenly speaks again, hurling a string of elven curses at the indifferent, fractured face of the mirror before her.

"All the years I've wasted on you and you're still nothing but a flaming mirror with no reflection," she growls at the thing. Her tone becomes plaintive, miserable. "I've given you so much. How much more do you want from me?"

The tired frustration and despair in her voice stabs me with a sharp shard of guilt, and I let out a quiet, anguished breath before I can stop myself. She turns her head just slightly at the sound, aware of my presence at last; her body stiffening visibly as she opens her mouth to speak. She's still infuriated with me. I can't see her face; she doesn't turn completely, doesn't face me, she just throws her words angrily over her shoulder in my direction. "Why have you come here? Did the Keeper put you up to this?"

She thinks the Keeper sent me? Does she truly think I wouldn't have come otherwise? Maker, what am I going to say to her? "I'm... I'm just making sure you're alright," I offer hesitantly. I take a small, tentative step towards her. "I care about you, Merrill. I wanted to check on you."

She turns her face back towards the mirror. "Don't, Hawke." Her voice is quiet, but her words are laced with pain and anger. I can't bear it. "Why would you do this to me if you really cared?"

I feel winded, as though the breath has been knocked out of me. She can't mean that. She can't really believe that I don't care for her. She's... just speaking from hurt, surely. I take a slow breath and take another small step closer. She still won't turn around.

"Caring for you doesn't mean I automatically agree with your every action," I say quietly, trying to be calm. Rational. This is the best thing for her. _It is, isn't it? _"It means I am honest with you about what I think, and I think that what you're doing is too dangerous. You'll get hurt."

"Just don't," she says, her tone harsh and defeated. Crushed. _Maker._ "Please don't say you're doing this for my sake."

_But I am._ "I... I know you're angry with me, and I know it might not seem like it to you, but I really am doing this for your sake!" She doesn't respond, doesn't turn, and I feel myself growing desperate with worry and distress. My voice dies to little more than a plaintive whisper. "Will you please just look at me?"

"No," she says shortly. "I will not. I'm too furious to look at you right now. You may disagree with what I'm doing, but you have _no right_ to prevent me from doing it! Stop treating me like a child! I am a grown woman, Hawke."

"I know," I exclaim in protest. "Of course I know that, I'm just... Merrill, I'm just trying to protect you."

"Well, don't!" Merrill cries heatedly, her voice cracking. "I don't need you, or Marethari, or anyone else to look after me. I can save my people with this mirror!" She leans forward suddenly to press both her palms firmly against the surface of the eluvian. I stare when the glass almost seems to ripple as her hands make contact. Thick, glowing veins of deep shimmering red creep sinuously up from beneath her fingers to surround the wide crack in the centre of the glass pane, and she sways a little as the eluvian takes it in. Drains her. I've... I've never seen her doing this before... Both her palms must be covered in slashes to produce this much blood...

_Maker._

"Oh, Merrill..." I whisper, unable to stay silent, and she drops her hands abruptly, as though recalled to my presence, tightly folding her arms again. The imprints of her hands remain on the cracked dull glass, outlined in crimson blood, and I watch in horror as they slowly disappear; the mirror drinking her lifeblood greedily into itself. I suddenly feel... something... tugging insidiously at me, at my magic and my blood, calling, searching, looking for more power, more sustenance; almost like a living, ravenous... parasite.

I make myself take another step forwards; drawing closer to her and the mirror, though my every instinct screams at me to get away from it and pull her with me, force her away from this... this thing. "Merrill, what's happening?" I ask quietly, trying not to let my mounting panic invade my voice. Why does it feel like this? Could it be the taint reasserting itself? "The eluvian feels... different. What did you do?"

She shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot without turning. "I did what I have to do. I have to finish it somehow, since you refuse to help me."

I frown in frustration; that isn't nearly enough of an answer. She used blood magic, clearly, but why is it different? "But... it feels... wrong. It didn't feel like this before."

She stays silent for several moments before she speaks at last. "Just... stay out of it, Hawke!" she mutters angrily. "You obviously don't believe in me, but I know what I'm doing. Leave me alone."

I gasp at the unfairness of her words. "I do believe in you! I just don't agree with your methods. I can't believe that this is the only way to recover your heritage. You don't have to do this by yourself. I'm here for you. Please, let me help you!"

She gives a small, bitter laugh. "Help me?" She still refuses to turn, to look at me. "You don't want to help me, you've made that perfectly clear." She shakes her head. "I was stupid to think a human would understand, let alone care about restoring elven knowledge. You're not trying to help me; you're trying to sabotage my work!"

_Bloody flames!_ "That's not true! I'm not against you recovering your people's heritage. Why would I be? I just..." I sigh heavily, running a hand though my hair as I wonder frantically how I can possibly convince her to believe me. But what can I say? I've broken her trust, and hurt her deeply; what could I ever say that could convince her to trust me again? "If you won't give up the mirror, then I at least want to help you find another way to repair it. You don't need blood magic," I say, willing her to believe it, and then blink as I remember something she said back on Sundermount before all of this happened. An idea suddenly occurs to me; another way for her to fix the mirror. A safer way. It could work; why not, if all it takes is enough raw power? Still dangerous, but much less so than risking demonic possession. "Why don't I just get you a few piles of lyrium instead?" I offer. "I can afford it."

She turns her head slightly, lowering her arms, hands balling into tight fists at her sides. "That is not funny," she hisses, angrily enunciating every word.

_But I meant it!_ I raise a hand in a gesture of helplessness; I wasn't being flippant, I wouldn't dare, not now! She's the one who suggested it in the first place. "Merrill, I'm not jok-"

"Why don't you just leave, Hawke?" she interrupts furiously, casting a furious glare over her shoulder at me, her face flushed with rage; hot angry blood scorching beneath her skin, across her cheekbones, right up to the very tips of her ears. "If you disapprove of what I'm doing so much, why are you still here?"

"Because you need me. And because I want to help you. Let me." I take another step towards her, stepping up behind her. I'm so close to her; close enough to feel the tension in her small body, waves of raw emotion emanating from her and striking at my heart; anger, confusion, pain, deep pain. She's so hurt. Because of me. _Oh, please, just let me help you. Let me in_.

A sound, a whisper, tugs at the edge of my thoughts, and I suddenly feel a surge of pure, unrestrained rage tainting the air. Neither came from Merrill. I turn my eyes slowly towards to eluvian just in time to catch the flash of light across its dull surface, passing so quickly I almost miss it; and a low, resounding note emanates from the mirror, almost beneath hearing. Merrill's head tilts slightly, as though she's listening to the bloody thing and the note grows louder; the wave of anger growing stronger. Maker, what's wrong with it? It's like it's... feeding her anger, somehow. I feel a sudden stab of deep anxiety.

"Merrill, come away," I plead quietly. "Please, just... come away from the mirror, and let's talk. I just want to help you." I reach out to her slowly and place my hand gently on her shoulder, but she tenses instantly, her body going rigid at my touch.

"Stop. Stop trying to 'save' me." She spins to face me, eyes blazing with dangerous ferocity as she stares at me, but I hardly notice. My entire attention is caught up in the deep purple shadows beneath her eyes, and the unhealthy pallor of her pale, almost translucent skin. Her bare forearms are covered in fresh cuts and half-healed scars. Splatters of dried and drying blood cover the floor beneath her feet. _Maker, Merrill, what have you done to yourself? What have I done to you?_

Another low thread of unintelligible sound brushes against my mind, and Merrill's eyes flash with wrath, as though in response to the insidious whisper.

"I don't need you!" she declares forcefully, her voice growing in anger and volume as she fixes me with a livid glare, her breaths coming rapidly, her eyes almost burning with the strength of her rising fury. "I've given up everything to rebuild my people's past, and you just threw my sacrifice in the garbage!"

I don't see her hand coming; all I hear it the sharp crack of the blow as her palm connects; feel the sharp sting of her full-armed slap across my cheek. I stagger backwards in shock, my hand flying instinctively to my face, feeling a sticky patch of wetness on my skin, left there by the bleeding slashes on her palm. Merrill's eyes widen, as though surprised by her own action, but in the next instant her face hardens once more, fury and pain and utter desolation warring across her frail, pallid features. She lifts her hand again, this time to point forcefully at the door behind me.

"Get out of my house," she says angrily, miserably, her voice low and fierce and shaking with emotion. "I never want to see you again!"

_I never want to see you again._

My heart freezes, then shatters, each jagged piece tearing into my soul, and for a few agonising moments, I can't move; all I can do is stare at her in shock and pain and guilt. I can't believe this is happening. It's all gone so wrong.

At last I force myself to turn and walk blindly towards her door, stumbling out into the darkness as the first tear falls, carving a hot wet trail through the smear of her blood across my cheek.

* * *

><p>xxx M xxx<p>

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><p>I sit before the eluvian for a long time once Hawke is gone, feeling the waves of rage coursing through me, filling me with vengeful fire, and I let it burn and rage deep inside me, inside the hole she left in my heart.<p>

She deserved it. She did. She knew how much I need the arulin'holm, and she kept it from me anyway. And then she has the nerve to ask me what I've been doing with the eluvian. What does she think I've been doing? What option is left to me now? And what did she mean, asking me what's wrong with the eluvian? There's nothing wrong with it!

_Is there?_

_No. Hawke is wrong. She has to be wrong._

I close my eyes against a sudden wave of dizziness that makes my head spin. I feel so tired, all of a sudden. And cold. I get up slowly, using the wall for support, and walk slowly away from the mirror, moving carefully towards the fire in the next room. I've never felt the fatigue this badly. The eluvian must have taken a lot of blood out of me, before. I hadn't even realised I was giving it any until Hawke spoke. She sounded so horrified... it must have looked ghastly. I suddenly feel a deep surge of remorse. I didn't mean to ever let her see that.

I move closer to the fire, further away from my mirror, still moving carefully. I am starting to feel a little better now, though. My head seems to be clearing too, suddenly, which is odd, since I didn't realise it was clouded. And I don't even feel that angry anymore. Why is that, I wonder? I was so furious before, staring at the eluvian. Maybe looking at it reminded me of everything that happened. I reach the bench by the fire and sit down slowly, feeling the enveloping warmth of the flames gently brush my skin, like a comforting, loving caress. Like Hawke's touch.

I wish she was still here. I'm not angry anymore. I wish I hadn't sent her away.

I was so furious with her before, I know, and I couldn't bear it when she put her hand on my shoulder, when I felt the tenderness in her touch. I didn't want to listen to the care and concern in her voice, or to anything she was saying. It hurt too much to hear it. But... she's never been wrong before, about anything. Everything she does is right. And... she's never done anything to hurt me. Before this, anyway. All she has ever done is keep me safe, again and again. Protected me. Saved me. So many times...

I gaze into the fire, somehow very aware of the sightless face of the eluvian boring into my back. But I don't want to look at it. It makes me angry when I do, and I don't want to be angry anymore; I don't like myself at all, when I am. And I feel... calm, now. I feel like I can think properly, clearly, for the first time since all of this happened. Did... did Hawke mean it, when she said she thought there could be another way to mend it? Surely if there was any other way, I would have found it by now, though, wouldn't I? She can't have been serious about buying lyrium. Even I know by now that the Chantry controls the lyrium trade; anyone outside of the order who tried to get their hands on the amount I'd need would bring a load of suspicion down on top of their heads; not to mention a legion of Templars to their door, looking for apostates. She can't seriously be considering putting herself at such a risk for my sake, can she? I'd never let her, anyway. I couldn't stand to put her into that sort of danger.

But... aren't I doing that already? With the blood magic? I keep saying I know what I'm doing, and I do, I really think I do, but... that hardly means that I won't fail, that I won't... fall. And if I do fall to the demon, then I will become an abomination, and then... I will be a danger to everyone. I will be a danger to her. I can't give up on the mirror, I can't, I have to try, but even if I fix it, and Hawke is right about the demon turning on me... She was right, before, wasn't she? The demon in the Deep Roads did betray us. Hawke is always right. But she can always make everything alright. She always gets us through. She always finds a way. If anyone can discover a better way to mend the eluvian, it's her.

I shift a little on the bench as my mind reels with a lot of very uncomfortable, muddled thoughts. Hawke always does the right thing. Always. So... oh, Creators, maybe she's right about this, too. Only... only she doesn't actually disapprove of the mirror, does she? Just the blood magic, and the... the demon. She still wants to help me fix the mirror, she said so. Maybe she can help me find another way to fix it. Maybe she is right about using blood magic. Maybe I was only trying to convince myself that blood magic isn't any more dangerous than other kinds because... I had to believe it, to make myself use it.

_The more you use it, the more you want to use it, and the more you convince yourself you need to_.

Is she right? If it weren't for the eluvian, I never would have taken it up at all, would I? Just as Hawke said. And... maybe she's even right that the eluvian feels different, somehow. It has been responding oddly to my blood magic these past few days. The only thing I can think of that's different to my usual rituals is how angry I've been when I performed them. Perhaps... perhaps the fury transferred into the mirror with my blood? What if it's affecting the eluvian, somehow; altering the magic of it, and the presence inside it? What if it's encouraging the corruption to flourish, instead of cleansing it?

Hawke is right. I need to stop this. For now, anyway. I need to stop using blood magic on the mirror; at least when I'm feeling angry. She's right about the eluvian, too. I don't think it's supposed to feel this way. The anger in it... that can't be right. I've made a mess of it, again, like I always do. I need to leave it alone; for the moment, at least, until I can be sure I can use my blood on it again without doing it more damage. I need to be calm.

And... I need to talk to Hawke. If she'll even see me. She shouldn't want to, anymore, not after what I said to her, everything I yelled at her. Elgar'nan, I said such awful, terrible things, and then...

I... I told her to get out. I told her... Creators, I said I never wanted to see her again. How could I say that to her? It isn't true, I can't live with not seeing her, not being with her; I can't. What could have made me say such a thing?

I look down at my hand, still covered in the drying blood from the slashes on my palm, little beads of red forming along the half healed gashes. They must have reopened from the impact, when I... I struck her.

I struck her. I struck Hawke.

I bite my lip deeply as I remember. I... I can't believe I hit her. How could I do that? The look on her face... Creators, she looked so hurt... And all she ever tried to do was protect me. How will she ever forgive me?

My eyes screw shut at the thought and I moan a little, hugging myself miserably, rocking back and forth on the bench. Maybe she shouldn't. I can't give up my work, but it is dangerous. I am dangerous. She shouldn't care for me, I don't deserve it. I'll only end up hurting her even worse. If the Templars discover my blood magic, it will cast suspicion on anyone close to me, and they'll go after her. They'll find out she's a mage, and she'll be locked up in the Gallows. Or... they might even assume she's a blood mage as well, just for associating with me, and they'll kill her, too, or, or make her tranquil...

A wretched sob escapes me at the thought of Hawke, my Hawke, lying dead at the feet of a Templar; at the thought of her as a mindless, emotionless shell, the smooth skin of her forehead marred by the raised red brand of the Templar sunburst... by the gods, I don't know which is worse. Maybe... maybe it's better this way. I told her to stay away, after all, didn't I? All I have to do now is not seek her out again, and she'll be safe from me.

But I can't do that. I can't, I'm too weak, too selfish for that. I need to see her. I have to tell her I'm sorry. I have to tell her... tell her...

I love her. Creators, I love her so much. I don't deserve her, and she would be safer to keep far away from me, but...

I jump to my feet and head for the door, almost running; I don't waste any time in donning chainmail or grabbing my staff, even, which I know is foolish, but I don't care one bit, right now. I don't even bother to douse the flames in the hearth. It'll be fine, I'm sure, I often forget to smother the fire and my house has never once burnt down, not yet, anyway. Well, I haven't got time to care about it right now. I have to find her. She must be back at home by now, if that's where she went. I'll never find her if she didn't. I hope she went home. I just have to get there without getting lost.

I break into a full sprint as soon as I'm outside, not caring even a little bit whether or not my door closes properly behind me.

_I shouldn't be doing this. I should let her go, I am too dangerous. I shouldn't go to her..._

_But I have to. I will. I am going._

_Mythal, let me find my way and not get lost, not tonight. Let me find her there._ _Let her... let her want to see me_.

_Please, let her forgive me._


	14. Chapter 14

_I think you all know what's coming. It's been harrowing up to now, I know, but I hope this makes it better. I'm very sorry if you don't like the rivalmance stuff in the last chapter and this scene, but, well, it's my story, and I like it this way; it makes the relationship more... something. Eventful, perhaps? Deeper, maybe. Dramatic, certainly. It's not really a rivalmance anyway, I just like the dramatic appeal of those scenes, and I think they add more to the story. And after all, conflict is the essence of drama, or something like that. But my Hawke and Merrill are friends and lovers, not rivals and lovers. Just read to the end of this chapter before giving up and you'll see. My mage Hawke was confused (and scared), but she will see the light and find a way to resolve the situation, as usual._

_Oh, and though my story has an M rating, I'm trying to make that part of the chapter sweet and pretty simple stuff, not really graphic, or anything. Nor too detailed, or lengthy. I really just want it to be sweet and tender, like the way it plays out in the game. I really hope that's how it reads. It's hardly a fade to black, though, so if you are uncomfortable reading such scenes, well, you've been warned. I've never written anything like this before, it's really hard to write, for me, anyway. Really, really hard. Like, nearly give up and run screaming into the night hard. Still, it is an M story so look out; adult situations. Mature content. You know... intimate stuff._

_Also, some sappy stuff. Beware! But again, I remain unapologetic. Wanting more sappy loving stuff between Merrill and Hawke is pretty much the main reason I decided to try writing a story in the first place, so__ enjoy (hopefully). I hope to write some much lighter, much more fun stuff after this, and get away from all the dark confusing unpleasantness. And I will, eventually, so stay tuned! And thank you._

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><p>xxx H xxx<p>

* * *

><p>The parlour fire flares and flickers as I sit morosely on the rug before it, the logs crackling and shifting in the flames, but I don't register the heat. I feel frozen.<p>

What have I done?

I can't think. I can't...

Am I right? Or am I wrong? I just... I don't know, anymore. Maker only knows, and he's not telling.

She was so sad, so hurt, so furious with me... and I did that to her... how could I do that to her?

But... it is worth her fury, isn't it? It was worth hearing the anger and outrage and even the hurt in her voice as she told me to get out, to go, to leave her. It is even... Maker, it's even worth knowing I have lost any chance of being with her if only it keeps her safe. I just want her _safe_. I couldn't let her destroy herself for the sake of forgotten lore. I couldn't. I could be wrong, or... or maybe it's just selfishness. But the Keeper, Maker, the whole Dalish clan doesn't want any part of Merrill's mirror; they're all terrified of the damn thing. Maybe they should be, from what I felt from it before; that subtle, sinister whisper, and the insidious current of fury in the air... Add that to dealing with a bloody pride demon... how can she not see how unacceptable such a risk is? Why can't she find another method to mend the mirror, or some other way to reclaim her peoples' heritage? There is always another way!

_How could you?_

Merrill's face flashes into my mind; the wounded look of betrayal in her eyes piercing me through, and I can't stifle a pitiful, desolate sob; I've broken my own promise to myself to do anything to prevent her from being hurt. But by causing her this pain, I'm only sparing her far greater hurt that will surely come from this self-destructive path...

Aren't I?

It's hard to hold my mind to such a conviction while my heart is screaming at what I've done. What I've done to her. The expression on Merrill's face, the one that's been there every time she's looked at me since I sided with the Keeper against her... every time I close my eyes, I see it, and every time it sends a shaft of pure agony shooting through my chest. And did it even help at all, in the end? All it seems I did was force her to use even more blood magic... oh, Maker, those deep cuts, those slashes, all over her arms, her hands... and I drove her to that. I drove her to such self-destruction, such self-mutilation. How is that any better? Any safer?

And when she... Maker, when she said she never wanted to see me again...

I almost broke at that. I wanted to give the arulin'holm to her, give her anything she wanted, anything, if only she would take back those words. If I'd had it with me, maybe I would have. Maybe I should. Even now I feel the urge to grab the thing and run to the alienage, fall to my knees before her and lay it at her feet, begging her forgiveness. But when I think of the cruel blade of the ancient carving tool and how she'll use it, how she'll drag it across her soft pale skin and use her lifeblood to call on her demon... I can't...

Can I? Would it be any worse than what she has been doing without it?

The way she looked, when she finally turned to me, so pale, so drained, the floor beneath the eluvian covered in her blood... I did that to her. I should have stayed, no matter what she said, but I... I didn't think. I couldn't think. I still can't. I should have stayed to heal her, to try, at least, though I know she wouldn't have let me. I think she would have forced me to leave if I hadn't gone; physically, or even magically. She could have, with her blood magic; controlled me, forced me out. She would never have been capable of such a thing before, but then, she was just so furious... and I never thought she would ever... ever strike me, either, not intentionally. But she did. Though... I'm not certain she was entirely... herself, when she did that. I felt something from the mirror, I'm certain of it. Something was there, a wrathful, insidious presence, an influence, and I feel certain that it came from the eluvian. I should have smashed that cursed mirror and crushed the shards beneath my heels... as though that would have solved anything.

But... what I felt from it... it didn't feel that way before. Before I denied her the arulin'holm, before I drove her to this, to whatever blood magic rituals she used that... altered it in such a way, made it so... sinister, so dark. So malevolent. Is that my fault, as well? Would it have happened at all, if I hadn't kept the blade from her? Would it?

_How could you do that to me?_

I wipe angrily at my eyes and run a hand through my almost-dry hair, trying to dispel my dark, desperately bewildered and vacillating thoughts. I am not having much success. I'm so confused. I absently scratch my sleepy mabari behind his furry ear to try and distract myself as I sit cross-legged beside him before the fireplace; the short skirt of my silk bathing robe hiked up comfortably over my knees. Hardly decent, perhaps, but I really don't have the heart to care, just now. Besides, there's no danger of ayone seeing me; no one else in the house is awake at this hour. Unsurprising, considering how late it is, after all. It took me a long time to get home tonight, after Merrill... after I left the alienage, accosted as I was by so many different thugs and criminals on my way through Lowtown, and then Hightown as well; all apparently conspiring together to ensure that this is without a doubt the worst day I've had in a good long while. I barely managed to make it through them in one piece, all by myself. But I managed, eventually. Somehow. The only piece of luck, if I want to call it that, is that by the time I finally dragged myself into the house, practically dripping with the blood and gore of countless Dog Lords, mabari and Invisible Sisters; there was no one about. Bodahn, Sandal and Mother were all long abed, which mercifully relieved me from suffering any unwanted fuss and concern. I was pathetically grateful when I realised that no one else was awake and took great pains to bathe quietly. I just... I don't want to talk to anyone right now. I don't want to see anyone. Not a damned soul.

_I never want to see you again!_

_Oh, Maker save me..._

A crushing weight of loneliness and despair settles firmly onto my shoulders as I stare despondently into the fire, feeling utterly hollow. I haven't felt this way for a long time. I feel just like when we lost Bethany to the ogre, and when I lost Carver; just as heartsore, just as hopeless and bleak, like I'll never feel happy again. Like I don't deserve to. It only makes it worse to know that; however awful I think I feel right now, Merrill must be hurting far more deeply. Losing four of her clan mates in a single day, finding out that the rest of her clan, her family, think she's a danger to them because the Keeper, the closest thing she has to a mother, told them that she was. And then to have me set myself against her too, on top of everything else... Oh, Andraste, she must have felt so alone. How could I have added to her pain as I did? Is this really the best thing to do? I thought it was... but am I preventing her from completing her mirror with the arulin'holm because I truly think it shouldn't be restored her way, because it's too dangerous, or am I simply doing it because I can't bear the thought of her getting hurt trying? Which, of course, has hurt her even more deeply in the process. Betrayed by the person she trusted the most to help her. That's what it was. A betrayal of her trust.

My eyes narrow abruptly as I glare into the flames. _She trusted me to help her, but not enough to tell me about her demon. _I blink, suddenly, startled by that resentful reflection. Is it fair of me to think that way? Doubtless she thought I wouldn't react well, and I know how hard it can be for her to talk to me about even the most innocuous things, sometimes, let alone tell me about something like this. And look at the way I reacted, when she did finally tell me. I was hardly understanding, after all, was I? But... if she had told me earlier, perhaps taken the time to explain everything to me when we were both calm, rational... would I have accepted it, then? Maybe, maybe not, but I certainly would have had no cause to feel hurt that she kept something like this from me...

I feel a sudden surge of unease as more conflicting thoughts scramble across my mind. Just how much of my choice was influenced by the hurt I felt; when I thought she didn't trust me enough to tell me everything? Aveline and the Keeper both seemed to make persuasive points against helping Merrill restore the eluvian, but are they right? Or did I simply let myself be swayed by their arguments because, deep down, I'm just terrified for her? Did the Keeper play on my fears and my doubts so that I would keep the arulin'holm from her, hurt her, hoping she would return to the clan? Would she do such a thing? If she loves Merrill that much, of course she would. She'd do whatever it takes to keep her safe, just as I would... oh, Maker.

Perhaps Isabela is right. As much as I care for Merrill, I... perhaps I shouldn't have made this choice for her. Perhaps I should...

_Oh, bloody Void, I'm just going around in circles. Andraste save me, I'm so confused!_ _I can't make sense of this at all._

__I don't know what's right or wrong, anymore.__

_I don't know what to do..._

_What should I do?_

_What?_

Suddenly I hear a faint sound like the creaking of a door, and I look up hesitantly towards the top of the stairs, expecting to see Mother coming out of her room. I watch her door apprehensively, dreading the inevitable conversation and explanation that will follow when she finds me here on the floor dressed in nothing but a bathrobe, sitting on the rug with the dog in the middle of the night.

But her door remains shut. There's nobody there. Everything is quiet. Perhaps I imagined it. I dismiss it from my mind and turn back to the fire, preparing to indulge in another bout of miserable brooding to put even Fenris to shame.

But then my faithful hound stirs beside me, raising his head and pricking up his ears, listening intently to something; some sound beyond my hearing. I strain my own ears, trying to listen for whatever has caught his attention, but I can't hear anything. I look down at him questioningly, and he gives a soft woof, sniffing the air, his tail giving a few cheerful thumps as he gazes pointedy in the direction of the entrance hall, and I can hear it now, a quiet, rhythmic, familiar sound; the soft padding of bare feet against stone, coming along the hall towards me. I raise my eyes to the open doorway, listening intently, my heart in my throat as the sound grows louder, her light, graceful footsteps drawing nearer and nearer, each soft, gentle sound filling me with hope, dread, joy, and excited, nervous fear, and then suddenly there she is; stepping into the light and standing on the dark threshold, gazing at me with an unreadable expression as firelight and shadow play over her beautiful features and cause her moon pale skin to glow, her midnight hair to shine, and her emerald eyes to gleam and glitter against the darkness as though the light of a thousand falling stars are bound within their brilliant depths.

"Hawke," she whispers quietly, uncertainly. Her voice is shaking.

_Merrill._

I rise slowly, hesitantly, staring at her. I want to run to her and take her into my arms, but considering how we parted, I am sure she wouldn't welcome it. So I stay still, waiting a few paces away, unsure of what to do next; what she wants me to do, what she expects me to do. We watch each other in silence.

"I... your door wasn't locked," she says suddenly. "I didn't knock, I didn't know if... I didn't want you to turn me away, so I... I just sort of... came in."

I bite the inside of my cheek to suppress a wry and highly inappropriate smile. She was afraid of being kept out, so she broke in. I think I can understand that, somehow. "It's alright. I can relate, after all, can't I?" I offer quietly as I gaze at her. _Maker, how can anyone be so lovely?_

Merrill stares at me with wide, sad eyes for a few uncomfortable moments, and then looks away. "Hawke... Back at my house, I should never have said..." she begins, then pauses, apparently unable to repeat her angry words. I wait, my heart caught in my throat. When Merrill eventually looks back up at me, her eyes are bright with unshed tears. "I didn't mean it."

I draw in a deep, grateful breath of relief. Maker, I'm so glad to hear her say that! Of course, it is somewhat self-evident, since she's here looking at me right now, after all, but still..._ Oh, Andraste, thank you!_ I gaze at her steadily, keeping my expression impassive mainly out of habit and a slight, lingering uncertaintly, but inside... inside, I'm singing with joy. I have no idea what to say to her, though. Usually I would make some sort of stupid joke to make things better, but... this is hardly the time for levity.

"People...say a lot of things when they're angry," I finally manage to get out."I knew you didn't mean it." Well, I know now. And besides; I would forgive her anything.

Though, perhaps I'm the one who should ask for forgiveness.

Merrill lowers her head a litle, looking at the floor, as if my reply somehow made her feel even worse. _What did I say? Maker, I'm bad at this!_ I unconsciously take a step forward, just as Merrill does the same. I stop short, unsure of myself, wanting to move delicately so as to not make matters worse.

"I am... really sorry that I hit you, Hawke," she says quietly, looking up at me with mournful eyes.

I smile a little wryly, trying to be reassuring, though I can still almost feel the sting across my face, the shock of the sharp contact of her hand against my cheek. "It's alright. I daresay I deserved it." She blinks, opening her mouth to protest, and I hold up a hand, forestalling her. It seems... somehow clearer now, now that she's here with me again. Maybe I'm just willing to say anything, do anything to keep her here at this point, but... I don't care, anymore, I can't remember any of my reasoning or rationalising over the past few days. None of it matters to me right now. Only she matters, only her happiness. Only her. _I would forgive you anything. I'd do anything for you._ "You had just lost four of your clan mates in one day, and then after all that, I go and take away the very reason we went there in the first place, when I promised to help you? You were right to hit me; I wouldn't have blamed you for doing worse. If anything, I'm surprised you didn't hit me earlier."

Merrill shakes her head forcefully. "No, Hawke. It was wrong of me. You didn't deserve it at all. I just, I was angry, like you said, but I let it take me over, and... I should never have done it. I should not have struck you." Her expression becomes pained, and she looks away. "I'm sorry."

"I forgive you," I tell her quickly. I don't really see that there's anything to forgive, but perhaps she needs to hear it. And I need to try and explain myself, if I can. "I was... I've been so confused, Merrill. What I did... I just wanted to keep you safe, that's all, but... I don't know if what I did was right or wrong, anymore."

She closes her eyes briefly at my words, shaking her head a little, then meets my gaze again. "I don't know, either. You've only ever done the right thing before, Hawke. You always do. I'm not so sure anymore, about what I've been doing, I mean. But I do know that whatever you do... you only ever try to help me. I am sure of that, if nothing else." She sighs, and a pained look comes into her eyes. "Sometimes I think...you're too good to be with someone like me," she says softly.

I say nothing, feeling more confused than ever. She... she thinks _I'm_ too good? And what is she talking about, 'someone like her'? There was no one more bright and good than Merrill, no one. Certainly not me.

Merrill looks away as she continues. "I wish...I wish I were more like you. Maybe then, I'd know what I should do, about the mirror, and... everything. Maybe then you'd think of me as... more than a bumbling idiot. More than just a foolish child who needs your protection."

My eyes open wide in surprise. Is that really how she thinks I see her? Nothing could be further from the truth! "I don't think you're an idiot, far from it!" I rush to reassure her, my tone insistent. "And I certainly don't think you're a child. I worry about you, Merrill, but I don't think less of you. I never could." I try to show her my sincerity in my eyes. Surely she can see it?

Merrill smiles faintly, sadly."You say that, but I know it's not true." _What? Of course it's true! Maker, why can't I ever say anything right? Why can't I make her see how I feel?_ Merrill rubs a hand through her dark hair, looking at me with those big, sorrowful eyes. "I know I make stupid mistakes, and I babble like a fool, and you..." She drops her hand, and her eyes become even wider as she continues, her voice full of fervent intensity. "You're _beautiful _and clever. You're too good. Too good to throw yourself away on me. You shouldn't have to waste your time trying to save me from my own folly. Protecting me from my own foolishness, all the time."

_She thinks I'm good, even after I hurt her so. But... 'throw myself away on her'? Maker, is she trying to say what I think she is? She can't be trying to end it. Please, let her stay. Let her give me another chance._ I can't stop myself; I step forward and take Merrill gently by her slender shoulders. "You're not foolish. And you're worth it, Merrill. I care about you. I mean it. I want to be there for you." I smile, daring to offer a wry comment; "Besides, what if I just enjoy being your protector?"

Merrill locks gazes with me. She does not smile back. "You can't save me, Hawke. It's not worth trying."

_It_ is_ worth it! You are worth everything!_ I feel my grip tighten slightly as though I can convince her to understand, to believe me, by touch alone. I'm starting to feeling unsure again, cowed by her grim expression, and the bleakness in her tone. But I can't let her leave it at that. I won't. "Don't you think that's for me to decide?" I ask, my voice soft but firm, brooking no argument. "I'll never give up on you, no matter what. I won't abandon you, Merrill, not ever."

"Maybe I want you to abandon me. Did you ever consider that?" she says shortly, but her voice is shaking, and her body trembles beneath my hands as she wraps her arms about herself. She looks away from me.

I suddenly feel a strange sense of reckless urgency. This is it, the point of no return. Everything will change tonight. It's time to resolve this, one way or another. My pulse is racing. I shake my head slowly, and reluctantly release her, stepping back a little. She has to make this choice without influence, without interference.

"That isn't what you want," I say quietly, with absolute certaintly. Almost. "If it was, you wouldn't have come here tonight. Merrill, look at me." She slowly raises her head, and lifts her gaze to meet mine.

I look back at her steadily. "You told me you never wanted to see me again." She flinches, but doesn't look away. "Then you said you didn't mean it. Now you say you want me to leave you, abandon you, in your words." I take a breath, forcing myself to continue. "It has to be one or the other. With me, or without me. If you really want me out of your life, this is your chance to tell me so. And if... if that's what you really want, then I'll leave you alone. I... I swear it." My voice becomes rough and ragged with the strength of my emotions. Part of me can't believe I'm saying this to her. The other part, the part that needs to know, to settle this, urges me to keep pushing, to see this through. I know she doesn't want to leave. I know it.

_By the Void, I hope I'm right._

I take a single step toward her, locking my eyes with hers. "But you have to mean it this time. Look in my eyes, and say it. Tell me you don't want me in your life. Tell me you don't want to be with me."

I move closer, still not touching her, staring into her eyes, holding her gaze, challenging her to say it, if she can.

"Tell me you don't want me."

She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Her eyes are bright and wide as she looks at me; her breath is coming in short, quiet gasps. Her mouth slowly closes, and she shakes her head slowly. "I can't. Creators, I can't say it. I can't live without you, Hawke. I don't want you to leave me alone."

I feel a wave of utter relief wash over me, accompanied by a sudden urge to press her fiercely against me, but before I can move, her expression hardens and she bursts out:

"But you should! For your own good, you should, Hawke. I'll only bring you pain." She gazes at me without blinking, breathing quickly as her words spill urgently forth from her in a torrential flood of anxious desperation. "There is danger in what I'm doing with the eluvian, you are right about that, and you were right that it felt different. Wrong. It's because I was angry, I think, and I'm leaving it alone for now. And I know what I am trying to do is dangerous, I do know that, but... it isn't me you should be worried about. It's you. Whatever else I may be, I am also a blood mage. I can't evade the Templars forever, and if they catch me... if they take me, they won't hesitate to punish anyone close to me as well." She glances away and takes a deep breath, consciously halting her words, and then slowly raises her eyes to mine once more. Her expression is calm, almost blank.

"If you stick with me, you and everyone you love will be in danger," Merrill says flatly, her tone uncharacteristically forceful and uncompromising. I stand still, watching her uncertainly, feeling an icy stab of sudden fear at the new turn our conversation seems to be taking. I don't know what she's trying to say. I'm terrified that she's going to leave me. _Maker, please don't let her go; I couldn't bear it if she left._

She looks at me bleakly, resigned determination in her eyes. "You... you should let me go, Hawke. Forget me. I am too dangerous for you to be around."

My blood freezes cold at her words.

_You should let me go. Forget me._

_No._

_I'll only bring you pain..._

_No. Oh, Maker, what have I done?_

I can't breathe. I can't speak. I can only stare at her, wide-eyed, begging her silently, pleading;

_Don't. Don't go. Please don't leave. Stay with me._

_Stay..._

Her expression doesn't waver, at first, but then her face crumples slightly as she gazes at me, and a note of desperate pleading enters her voice. "It... it's better this way. Don't you see? If... when the Templars discover me, discover what I am, they will come for you, next, then they'll find out you're a mage too, and they'll... they'll..." She shakes her head quickly, angrily, fearfully. "And that isn't even the least of the danger I will put you in! What if something goes wrong with the eluvian, or what if... if I'm wrong, if I can't resist the demon, and it possesses me... " She gives a little sob, and my heart constricts. Her chest heaves as she looks at me, and her voice trembles. "Do you understand, I, I can't bear if anything happens to you because of me..."

She breaks off suddenly, her breathing now shallow and rapid, and she closes her eyes tightly; but not before I see the fear deep within them, the terror, the dread.

_Oh, Maker._

I take another half step towards her, wanting to reassure her, to comfort her_. I love you so much I can't breathe. I'll take my chances with the bloody Templars. And I will _never_ let the demon have you. Never. Why can't you see what I feel?_ _Why can't you believe it_?

I have to make her believe it. _Say it, you idiot, speak!_

"It will be alright, Merrill. I promise I won't let that happen." My words are soft; my voice gentle, but firm and unyielding. "If the Templars ever get their hands on you, they won't have time to come for me; I'll be going for them. But it isn't going to happen. I won't let it; not the Templars, not the demon, not any of it. Don't go. Stay, please. Don't be afraid. It will be alright."

She lifts her head slowly, looking up at me, and I freeze at the expression in her eyes_. Maker, my love, my little one, how can you feel such pain?_

After a moment of heavy silence, Merrill lowers her gaze.

"Ma vhenan... don't save me... please, just... _don't_."

Her whispered words, spoken with such hopelessness and despair, nearly break my heart_. I promised to keep you safe. Saving you is what I'm all about._ But I can't say it, can't speak. I didn't know that Merrill thought so ill of herself. _Maker save me; did I do this to her?_

At my silence, Merrill hangs her head with an expression of abject misery and looks away, half turning towards the doorway as though to leave. _Andraste!_ I can't let her leave, I won't. She said she didn't want me to leave her. I won't let her go. I finally force myself to speak, to move. Perhaps I can say more with fewer words.

I reach out and cup Merrill's beautiful face in my hand, turning her back towards me, gently raising her head and stroking a thumb across the dark lines of her vallaslin; trying to communicate all my faith, my ardour, my love into that one simple, tender gesture. Merrill closes her eyes at my touch, but she smiles; a small, tremulous smile, but it's there. Maybe it worked. Andraste, I hope so.

I smile lovingly back at her. "Merrill…" I whisper, my voice alive with love and hope as I look at her. The beat of my heart, the strength of my soul. My light in the dark. "It's alright." _I promise._

Merrill leans her head into my palm for a moment, and my heart skips with a sweet, almost painful jolt at the pressure, the warmth, the feel of her soft skin beneath my fingers. She opens her eyes and they fill as she gazes up at me, not with tears, but with light, her pure, shining light; her face radiant with hope and joy as she smiles at me shyly, wonderingly. My breath catches in my throat. Maker, but she's beautiful. There's nothing I want more at this moment than to fold her in my arms but it's she who moves first, throwing herself at me, wrapping her slender arms around my neck and stretching up to kiss me; as sweetly fierce as our first kiss, back in her house before all of this happened. A new start. A second chance.

I hold her tightly against me, wanting to feel her as close as possible. I am close to dying with happiness, I'm sure. She came to me. She's here. She didn't leave. This is real.

In my wildest dreams, I never truly believed I could be so lucky.

* * *

><p>xxx M xxx<p>

* * *

><p>I can't believe I thought I could ever leave her, even for her own good. I can't. I'm not strong enough.<p>

I don't want to be.

She hugs me close, and I feel warm, and happy, and safe, so safe. Nothing else matters right now, there's just us, just this, and I never want to be apart from her again. Never. I love her. I want to stay this close to her forever. I want to be closer, even. I want...

I want...

Her.

I clasp my arms around her neck more tightly as I stretch up to press my cheek against hers, whispering into her ear.

"Hawke... I'm ready, now."

She breathes in once, deeply, and relaxes her hold on me, just a little, so she can look into my eyes. She wants to make sure I mean it, I suppose. Understandable, really, but she needn't worry. If I've ever been certain of anything before, ever, I am certain of this, now.

"Are you sure, Merrill?" she asks softly.

I gaze back at her steadily. "I am sure, Hawke." I raise my hand, and lay it gently against the smooth, warm skin of her cheek. "I want this. I do. I... I want you, ma vhenan."

The words sound so clumsy coming from me, at least I think so, but Hawke's eyes become very wide as I speak them, all big and dark as she gazes at me. She raises her hand and places it over mine on her cheek, turning her head and brushing her lips against my palm, and then she reaches out and pulls me toward her, kissing me on the mouth, softly at first, but then it deepens and intensifies until I'm certain that if she wasn't holding me up, I'd fall straight down to the ground, the way my knees are trembling.

She breaks away eventually and draws back to stare at me with a look in her eyes I've never seen before, stirring a strange sort of feeling deep inside me in answer. It's like... like... a deep, consuming hunger, although... not exactly. More like a sort of... fiery longing, a burning need... My chest rises and falls rapidly as I gaze back at her, shivering a little under the hot intensity of her gaze, and then she bends suddenly, slipping one arm beneath my shoulders and the other under my legs, sweeping me into her arms, holding me close. I gasp in surprise, throwing my arms about her neck and gazing up at her, blushing fiercely.

"You're so strong, Hawke!"

She laughs, her voice sounding low and rough. Husky. It's... _wonderful_. "Not really. You're just feather-light," she says, smiling as she kisses me again, cradling me against her; not like a child, of course not, but like something just as precious, just as treasured. Just as... loved. I close my eyes and lean into her kiss, holding onto her tightly.

She pulls away reluctantly after a moment and lifts her head, so she can see where she's going, I suppose. It would rather spoil the moment if she tripped on something and fell over. That's much more something I would do. I rest my head against her shoulder, letting her carry me through her empty house. Well, empty except for her sweet, silly dog, who looks up from his place lying by the fire, furry ears perked up as he watches us. He's curious to see what his human is doing, I suppose. So am I, actually. Where is she taking me? I lift my head, just a little, as she starts up the stairs, heading for... heading for her bedroom, of course she is, Merrill, where did you think it would happen? I bury my face in her throat and breathe her in, trying to quell my nervousness, my foolish fears. I want this, I do, I just... I am afraid. She said it was alright, that it is only natural, and I know it will be wonderful. Hawke could be nothing less. She said it was alright to be scared. She said... she told me she was scared, the first time, too. I shouldn't be afraid, not with Hawke, never.

But, still... I am.

She carries me slowly along the landing and down the corridor towards her room, her footsteps soft and careful; her feet barely making more than a whisper against the stone. She's so quiet without boots on. Why isn't she wearing any, though? Usually she wears them even inside. She isn't wearing her usual house robe, either; this one is deep blue silk, and very thin, and... her hair is wet, just a little. Did she have a bath? Then this is a bathrobe she has on. So... does that mean... she's bare, beneath it? I suddenly feel very aware of just how closely I am pressed to her, and just how thin her robe is. And me not wearing my chainmail... there's hardly anything between us. Just thin layers of fabric... I can feel the heat of her body against mine where I'm cradled against her, feel the swift rise and fall of her chest, hear the pounding rhythm of her heart. It's so wild, almost frantic, as though Hawke is as nervous as I am. But she's... she's done this before, hasn't she? Or is she nervous because of me? She shouldn't be. Whatever happens, whatever is supposed to happen, Hawke will make it wonderful, I know she will. I do sort of wish I'd had another look at Isabela's books before now, though...

Hawke enters her bedroom and sets me gently on my feet before the fire, kissing my forehead softly before going and closing her door, sliding the bolt home with an audible click. We're completely alone, now; alone and safely secure from intrusion. That ought to make me feel less anxious, shouldn't it? But it doesn't, somehow; if anything it makes me feel even more nervous. This is really happening. I don't want to be nervous. I look around her bedroom; I've only been inside it once, when Hawke showed me around after she first bought her house. We mostly stayed in the front room when I came here after that, or in Hawke's small library. Usually she came to visit me, though. It is a very nice room, nearly as big as my whole house! I run my eyes over everything; the fine paintings on the walls; her tiny cluttered writing desk in the corner; the tall, elegantly carved wooden wardrobes; her big, soft bed...

Quickly, I turn towards the fireplace as another bout of nerves sets me to trembling again; and I find myself gazing up at the decorative shield high on the wall, above the mantle. I look up at it, trying to calm myself as I hear Hawke moving to stand behind me. I can feel her warmth against my back...

"That's your mother's family crest, isn't it?" I say without thinking. "I heard her say it was supposed to be an eagle, though I suppose it can be a hawk now, can't it? I think it looks a bit like a griffon, too, if you sort of close your eyes a bit when you look at it. I always wanted a little baby griffon as a pet, you know." I'm babbling again, rambling childish nonsense, Creators, why? Why now? Is it a punishment for losing my heart to one who is not of the People? I cannot choose who I fall in love with. And I would not choose differently if I could. _Oh, why can't I stop talking?_ "I'd name him Feathers, and then when he got big enough I could ride on his back, just like the Wardens in all the old stories-"

Hawke silences me with a light touch of fingertips on the nape of my neck, letting them run lightly across my skin as she walks around to stand before me, trailing her fingers along my throat until she tenderly cups my cheek in her hand again and rests her thumb gently over my lips, locking the flood of nervous words behind them.

"It's alright," she says again, softly, her eyes kind and bright and beautiful, and suddenly all my doubts vanish, my fears are calmed. It _is_ alright, everything is alright, and it always will be. There's nothing at all to fear, as long as I'm with her.

I step in closer to her body and rest my hands on her shoulders, tilting my face up towards her and she responds just as I want her to, bringing her other hand up to cradle my head between her palms as she leans down to kiss me, slowly, softly, and oh, so sweetly I feel I can hardly breathe. I feel a bit dizzy too, all of a sudden, and I sway against her, tiny little spots of light dancing across my eyes. Hawke's arms slip down to hold me, circling my waist supportively and she pulls back to examine me worriedly for a moment as I blink at her, trying to focus. I start to apologise, feeling foolish, but she just gives me a little shake of her head and a small smile, and suddenly I feel her mana flowing through her; from deep within her, through her arms, her hands, her fingertips and into me, and I gasp as I feel the gashes and half-knitted scars on my hands and arms begin to heal. I look down in surprise; I thought maybe I was just dizzy and breathless from the kiss, which would hardly be out of the ordinary, but... I suppose I must have forgotten about all my cuts, from before. From working on the eluvian. Her magic fills me, suffusing my entire body in its warmth, Creators, it's a wondrous sensation. I suddenly feel better than I have felt for days as she replenishes and strengthens my blood from within me, closing the wounds on my palms and wrists and forearms, mending them so that the skin is almost completely smooth and unblemished, leaving only the faintest suggestion of scars. Her magic fades gradually, returning to her, but the wonderful tingling feeling remains inside me, thrumming through my whole body. I feel wonderful, now; warm and strong, and... bold. Oh, yes, very bold. I curl my hand about the back of her neck and draw her head down to me for a deep, sweet kiss, and her arms tighten about me, one hand coming up to rest gently against my cheek once more. I love it when she does that; it's such a tender gesture, it makes me feel... precious. Cherished.

Loved.

But I want more.

I break the kiss and lock gazes with her as she meets my eyes questioningly. I don't say anything. I just let my hand slip from her shoulder and run lightly down her arm until at last our fingers meet, and I grasp them tightly, stepping slowly backwards, back towards the bed I know is right behind me. Her bed. I did not plan this, and even now I don't know what I'm doing, not really, I'm just sort of... acting on instinct, I suppose. All I know, all that matters, is that I want this. I want _her_. I want to touch her, I want her to touch me, want to feel her close against my body, feel her warm, soft skin against mine. I tug gently on her hand without looking away, and she follows me quietly, her eyes wide and dark, just like before, blue flames glinting deep within them as the firelight flickers over the flushed skin of her cheeks and I feel that odd, almost hungry feeling again, just below my stomach... no, lower, much lower than that; a strange sort of eagerness and yearning, a need, an _ache_ such as I've never felt before, not... like this. I gaze deeply into Hawke's eyes as I struggle to put a name to it...

_...desire..._

... and then the backs of my legs brush against the mattress, and I sit without letting go of Hawke, shifting a little to move myself further up on the bed as she stands before me, gazing down at me with such an expression in her eyes; wonder, hope, joy, _longing_, and I can't look away from her, I don't want to, anyway. I lie back, holding her gaze as she moves over me, above me, lowering her body slowly onto mine with loving, tender care. She gently draws the scarf away from around my neck, dropping it onto the floor beside the bed as her mouth finds my throat, her lips seeking out the place beneath my ear, that wonderful little place I never knew was there, and I shiver and gasp, closing my eyes as she kisses into it gently. My arms come up to hold her as she runs her fingers through my hair, and then her lips find mine again and again.

I don't know what comes next, not exactly. I don't know what to do. I'm not afraid, not anymore, not really, but... well, I suppose I am still a little nervous, if I'm honest. And... I need her to help me, to tell me... I pull back a little, and look into her face. She gazes back at me, just waiting with a small, warm smile.

"Hawke... I don't know what to..."

"Shhhh, Merrill," she whispers, bending down to kiss my throat again and I cling to her helplessly at the feel of her warm lips caressing my skin. "I know," she murmurs between kisses. "It's alright. You don't have to do anything. Let me show you." Her mouth brushes against the rim of my ear, sending a shiver down my spine, and my eyes flutter closed. "Do you trust me?" she whispers.

"Yes," I breathe, and I feel her lips curve in a smile.

She raises herself up, just a little, so that she can stare into my eyes, once I manage to open them again. "All the choices are yours to make," she says quietly. "You only have to tell me to stop, and I will."

I gaze back at her steadily. "I don't want you to stop, ma vhenan."

She sits up completely, and I sit up too, looking at her in a little confusion. I... I said I didn't want her to stop, didn't I? Why did she...

Hawke sees my expression, and smiles again, gently, kneeling in front of me and stroking my cheek softly with her fingertips, and then she takes my hands in hers and guides them to the thin silk belt about her waist, placing my fingers over the knot meaningfully and I bite my lip as I realise what she wants me to do. Of course, we... we can't very well do this clothed, can we? I have seen her unclothed before after all, once; when she saved me in Lowtown when those men tried to.. to hurt me, years ago, and she gave me her robe afterwards... but... she was still wearing smallclothes, then. It's not like... like this time. And this is... this is all so very different. Even so, remembering that I have seen her almost bare... it helps me not to be so nervous about it now, somehow.

I take a breath and pull gently at the knot, which unravels quite easily in spite of the way my fingers are trembling. Her robe falls open a little, revealing a hint of lovely lily-pale skin and the curve of her breast and I fall still, my eyes riveted on that small, very tantalising gap and what lies beyond it. I was right. She is completely bare beneath... I can't look away. Hawke gives what sounds like a tiny laugh under her breath and takes my hands again, pulling them gently towards her and shifting a little closer to meet me as she draws them into the opening of her robe. Slowly, she places my palms on either side of her body, against her flat stomach, just beneath her breasts, pressing them against her warm skin. My breath hitches at the contact and I hold perfectly still in wonder, feeling the heat of her and the slight, gentle motion of her rapid breathing beneath my hands. She lets me go and lowers her arms to her sides, leaving me free to touch her; to roam, wander, explore. I move my fingers up her body a little, stroking gently over the skin of her stomach up to her ribs, and I start to feel a little bolder, again, a little braver. Her skin is so warm, and soft, and mostly smooth; although I can feel a few raised lines and nicks in places where she has taken a stray arrow or assassin's blade. They are part of her; marks of her courage, her endurance, her strength.

_Beautiful_.

I let my hands slide down her sides and down to her waist, my breath quickening at the feel of firm, toned muscle beneath my fingers. I can hear her breathing, too; her breaths are coming almost as fast as mine are, now. I withdraw my hands, raising them instead to the neck of her robe, tearing my gaze away from what little I can see of her body and meeting her eyes as I silently ask her permission to do more, to see more. I want to see all of her. She nods, just once, her lips curved in a gentle smile, and I hesitantly push the robe back over her shoulders and then down her arms. She shrugs a little and slips completely out of it as I do so, and then lets it fall, pooling behind her on the bed and I see her, all of her, for the first time, and she's _beautiful_, more so than I ever could have dreamed.

I reach for her again, resting my hands against her hips, caressing her bare skin and this time she reaches out as well, cupping the back of my head with one hand and drawing me into a deep kiss, curling her other arm about my waist, pulling me closer. I let my own hands roam a little as I return her kiss, one sliding around her waist to rest in the small of her back as the other wanders slowly up her bare side, past her waist, over her ribs, and then, shyly, I cup her breast in my palm, marvelling at the velvet softness of her skin beneath my fingers. _Creators, she's so lovely!_

She makes a tiny sound, a little moan, and breaks away, smiling into my eyes. Then her gaze leaves my face and she looks down at my body for a moment, at my clothing, and then back up at me. Oh. My turn, I suppose. A small ball of anxiety starts to burn inside me and I drop my hands, clasping my fingers together in my lap, twisting them nervously.

Hawke strokes her fingers along my bare arm, her mouth curved in a gentle smile as she gazes at me. "No chainmail, tonight," she says softly.

I look down at myself, although I already know what I'm wearing, of course; just a pair of dark brown leggings beneath my favourite green tunic. "N-no," I reply, although she wasn't really asking a question. She can see I'm not wearing it, after all. I cringe inside my head as my voice trembles, and of course, I start babbling again. "I don't usually wear it inside my house, unless I plan to go somewhere; it can get quite heavy, and hot, you see, not to mention rather uncomfortable. And it can take quite a while to get it on sometimes, and when I came here tonight... I didn't want to waste any time." I bite my lips to stop my rambling and then look up at her once I've managed to calm myself, a bit. "I just wanted to see you."

"And I'm so happy you came," she whispers, smiling at me. She doesn't look nervous at all, or embarrassed, even though she's completely bare and exposed before me. She has no reason to be though, does she? She's lovely. She reaches out to smooth her hand over my hair, tucking a few loose strands behind my ear and then she lowers her arm slowly, her fingers gently coming to rest on the hem of my tunic. She gazes into my eyes. "May I?"

I nod slowly; I do want her to, I do, but she hesitates, watching me. She must have seen something in my eyes, some of my anxiousness, and the childish fear I am trying so hard to suppress.

"Merrill?" Hawke says, her voice quiet. "Are you nervous?"

I bite my lip and nod again.

She holds still, watching me for a moment, and then takes one of my hands in hers. "It's alright. I understand. But there's no reason to be." She smiles a little as she looks at me. "I've already seen you naked once before, at your request. In your house, some time ago now. Do you remember?"

_She... she has? When? At my request... oh._ Of course. That same night in Lowtown, when she healed me... and then after, when I asked her to... to bathe me...

I blush a little at the memory, and her smile widens. "Merrill... you have absolutely nothing to be nervous about." She holds my eyes intently, sincerely. "You are _beautiful_."

And this time, I believe her.

"Do you want me to stop?" she asks softly, and I know that she would, if I asked her. If I wanted her to.

But I do not want her to stop. I don't speak, or answer; I just take both of her hands in mine and place them on the hem of my tunic, then I slowly raise my arms and she takes my meaning immediately, gently taking my tunic in her fingers and pulling it slowly up over my head, letting it fall beside my scarf on the floor. Her hands drift to my breastband and slowly, carefully, she begins to unwind it. I shiver when the cloth falls away at last, fighting the ridiculous urge to cross my arms over my uncovered chest, but Hawke doesn't give me time to grow nervous again; she leans forward and kisses my forehead, my cheeks, my lips, and then her hands are on my shoulders, her touch so light, so gentle as she encourages me to lie back against the pillows on her bed. She gently runs her fingertips down my sides, her nails leaving long light trails of shivery fire over my skin. My breath quickens as her fingers find the waistband of my leggings, and she looks at me with an unspoken question in her eyes, still making every step my choice, like she promised. I bite my lip and raise my hips a little, expectantly, slowly nodding my consent, and the fabric whispers over my skin as she draws the leggings down, taking all my remaining fears and doubts with them, along with my smallclothes, and then I'm bare, just as she is.

"Oh, Merrill," she whispers, awe in her voice as she stares down at me, and I feel beautiful beneath her wide-eyed gaze.

Beautiful, bare, free, and unafraid.

* * *

><p>xxx H xxx<p>

* * *

><p><em>Oh, Maker help me, I'm terrified.<em>

I've never been anyone's first, before. This has to be right, perfect. I have to control myself, have to be tender, thoughtful, delicate. It doesn't help at all that she's so wholly and utterly captivating. I can feel my fierce desire pulsing through me as I look at her, lying there; this fey, beautiful being lying bare beneath me in my bed, looking up at me with such open adoration, such faith, such trust. I have to control it, restrain myself. Not overwhelm her, or frighten her. I'm just so awfully nervous about making a mess of this. Her first time...

_Slowly. Gentle, careful. Don't get this wrong._

I look down at her for a few moments more; at her small, perfect body; her irresistible alabaster skin, her gentle curves, her small, high, perfectly round breasts and my heart races uncontrollably. I need to feel her skin against mine.

_Breathe. Slowly._

Her head turns and her eyes follow mine as I lay down beside her, quietly watching me, completely trusting and unafraid. I smile gently at her, lovingly, trying to hide my own growing nervousness, and slowly lift my hand to her cheek, running the tips of my fingers lightly over her smooth skin, tracing the intricate, beautiful curving lines of her vallaslin. Merrill smiles, and I let my hand trail along her throat, over her shoulder and then down her smooth side, stroking my hand gently over her bare skin; long, slow caresses from the side of her breast, down and over the curve of her hip to the top of her slender thigh and then back again. Just a gentle, soothing touch, letting her grow accustomed to the feel of skin against skin, easing her into this new level of intimacy and closeness. Her breath quickens, and at length she reaches for me, pulling me against her body, and I know she's ready for more.

I move slowly onto her, gazing into her eyes, consumed with wonder at her softness, her warmth; the brush of skin on skin like satin on silk as we lie heart to heart. Her arms curl tighter around me, exploring, and I lower my head down to her, my mouth brushing hers gently at first; the barest feathery touch of soft lips meeting and parting and meeting again. I feel her fingers drift up between my shoulder blades to rest against the back of my neck and she presses down insistently, parting her lips and pulling me to her as she deepens the kiss, making pleased little noises; sounds of delight, of need. Maker, it's driving me wild.

I break away at last and return my mouth to the soft, supple skin of her throat, inhaling deeply, immersing myself in her sweet scent and then I trail a line of slow kisses down over her shoulders, her collarbone, down to her chest, kissing the gentle swell of one small breast as I softly caress the other, letting my thumb drift lightly over the little rosy tip at its peak. My lips find the other tiny nub of delicate pink flesh and I take it gently into my mouth, tasting, teasing, feeling it harden under my lips, beneath the tip of my tongue. Merrill tangles her fingers in my hair, holding me against her, whispering my name over and over in a litany of wonder; urging my passion, my want, my desire to near uncontrollable heights.

I kiss the underside of her breast, revelling in the heat of her against my lips as I move lower, kissing down over her stomach, my tongue flickering fleetingly into her navel, making her gasp and shiver as her hands ball into little fists, still tangling and raking through my hair, and then I raise myself up a little, hearing her small intake of breath and tiny whimper of protest as my lips leave her; a sound that tells me unequivocally that I'm getting it right, thank the Maker. I sit back and look into her face, watching as she slowly opens her tightly closed eyes to search for me, her hands falling to lie limply beside her, chest gently heaving with excited little breaths. She's ready. Her eyes meet mine, and I lean forward a little, resting my hands gently on the top of her thighs, my thumbs gently stroking her skin, and then I wait, holding her gaze.

_Her decision. Every step._

Slowly, shyly, Merrill opens herself to me, and I lean back over her, kissing her mouth as I let my hand slide up her inner thigh to touch her gently, capturing her startled gasp with my lips on hers as I move against her, slowly at first, but gently increasing and intensifying until at last she gives a moan deep in her throat, rocking against me instinctively, insistently, her hands coming up to stroke my back, seeking more contact, demanding more touch, more of me, and I obey; moving before she tightens her embrace, lips gliding down her body, kissing a path between her breasts, then down over her taut stomach until I kneel before her, my hands slipping beneath her bent legs to catch a firm but gentle hold of her slender hips and I let my mouth take over, marvelling at the warmth of her, the taste of her, finding the sensitive, delicate little nub of bundled ready nerves at her core. She gasps and trembles, and I smile a little as I let her small sounds guide me, coaxing her, bringing her gradually to the crest of that wondrous wave.

Merrill begins crying out softly, tiny little hitches of breath and whispers of sound, her hips bucking a little in time to my movements, and I feel the muscles beneath the smooth skin of her slender waist and tight stomach contract under my fingertips as my ministrations intensify, small shivery tremors running the length of her body. She clutches at the bed sheets, drawing in air in sharp, shallow breaths, and then at last she gives a little cry, a gasp, a small astonished sound of pleasure, her hands gripping the sheet beneath her even tighter as her back arches, her entire body tautening, trembling, and then she gradually relaxes with a gentle sigh, breathless with wonder.

"_Oh...ma vhenan_..." she breathes, a smile of surprised delight curving her sweet rosy lips as she whispers those mysterious, enchanting elven words.

I crawl back up to lay down beside her and she curls into me as we lie facing each other, wrapping her arms tight about me, tucking her head beneath my chin, making me smile as I kiss the top of her head gently. I think... I think it went well, for all I was so nervous. I wanted to make her first night a pleasant memory, above all else, and I think I managed it, so... I am content. This night was about her; that is enough for me-

Merrill lifts her head and kisses me, abruptly ending my train of thought, and she pushes me gently onto my back, resting her body against mine, one hand caressing my cheek while the other rests lightly against my hip, fingers stroking softly. I kiss her back eagerly once I get over the surprise. She recovers quickly, it seems.

Her small hand drifts up my side and cups my breast...

_Maker!_

... and she learns fast, too...

_Oh!_

Her thumb brushes gently over my nipple before wandering to the other, stirring the already sparking embers within me as she mimics my movements, exploring my body with gentle caresses, my breasts, my ribs, my stomach...

_Oh, Maker's breath..._

... my hips, my thighs...

_Merrill..._

...and then her hand comes up to meet me and her first gentle, exploratory touch is all it takes to take me right to the edge, impassioned and ready as I am; a few moments more, listening to her soft sounds of pleasure, of rapture, of ecstasy as she kisses me with a sweet, ardent passion all of her own, her lips on my mouth, my cheek, my throat, her tender, fervent, eager movements, touching, stroking, caressing...

_Oh, Merrill..._

...and then I'm tumbling over into the abyss, falling off the edge of the world, quivering, crying out her name, hearing her surprised, delighted giggle sound sweetly in my ears as I tremble against her. I lay limply against the pillows as my breathing slows, and Merrill holds me, cuddling against my side, curling her arm about my neck to comb her fingers softly through my hair, and I caress her slender arm with a gentle, tender touch, slipping my other arm about her waist and pressing her small body to mine. _Maker, she's incredible... _

I close my eyes, lost and in heaven, completely caught up in the magic of the moment, the magic of her, and I hold her close, wanting nothing more than to lie right here, spent; listening to her gentle breathing; feeling her pressed against my side; enveloped in warmth, contentment, wonder. Love.

And for the first time, I feel... whole. Whole, and truly, unbelievably happy.

I feel joyful. Blissful.

I feel...

_Complete. _

* * *

><p>xxx M xxx<p>

* * *

><p>That was... I've never felt... I never dreamed... oh, <em>Hawke<em>...

We lie in slence for a long time, just holding each other. That's all I want to do, now, just hold her, forever. Well, maybe do other things, too...

Oh, yes... I would very much like to do that again, soon. It was just such... such an incredible, breathtaking feeling; warmth, heat, tingling fire all over me, pressure building and building inside me, and then... oh! Flashes of white searing light beneath my eyelids and then that sweet, wondrous, magical sensation, spreading through my whole body... It was... beautiful. I never could have imagined anything like this. I certainly never pictured myself in this situation, with anyone. Well... maybe I did picture myself with Hawke, doing... things, although my foolish and woefully limited imaginings... well, they were nothing like this. Not even close. And it was also very different to anything in any of the pictures Isabela showed me, in all her dirty books. Fewer people, for one thing, and much less complicated, but... a lot nicer, I think. Hawke was... wonderful, just as I thought, and then... when I did for her what she did for me, made her feel as I felt... that was... I have no words, but, well... I just... I thank Mythal and all the Creators that I learn so quickly.

So... what comes next? I never even thought about what would happen... after. With me, and Hawke. What... what do we do now, after this? What does this make us?

I take a breath and break the silence, comfortable as it was. I only hope I don't ruin everything, with what I'm trying to say.

"What happens now? Are we..." I pause, suddenly at a loss for words. Are we... what? Bonded? Promised? Together? Anything? I don't know if there's a proper name for what I'm trying to ask. I look over at her and find her watching me patiently, suddenly feeling myself being drawn into those pools of liquid lightning, which is lovely, of course, but also quite distracting, just now. I was... I was trying to ask her something... wasn't I? What was it... what...oh! Yes. Us. Right.

"What... what did this mean?" I manage at last.

Hawke looks back at me seriously. "Now, you and I both decide what happens next. Together," she replies gently, her fingers tracing softly along my arm as she gazes into my eyes, my soul. Then a wicked half-smile lights her face. "Although, we may have to do that a few more times before we can really figure it all out properly. Just to be absolutely certain," she says, turning her head to gaze up at the pretty whorling pattern on the wooden underside of the bed canopy above us. "As for what it meant, well, to me... it meant everything."

Oh! Well, that may not have answered my question, exactly, but... I think it will do, quite well enough. Perhaps there is no word for what we are to each other, now. We are what we are. Whatever happens next, we will discover it together.

_Together, then. Her, and me. Both of us. Together._

I like the sound of that.

I gaze at Hawke for a few moments more, feeling my heart swell at the honest emotion in her quiet words, at the beauty of her profile, at the memory, Creators, the wonderful memory of... of what we just did, together; the careful tenderness in her every gentle touch, every movement, every caress filled with care and feeling. Her laughter, her smiles, her kisses... _Oh_...

She made it so, so wonderful. So beautiful. Just as I knew she would.

"I _love_ you!" I exclaim suddenly, fervently, before I even know what I said. She looks back at me with widening eyes, not saying anything, and I bite my lip and look away in embarrassment. _Oh, Creators have mercy; that was awkward. How is it I always manage to spoil the moment?_ "I... probably shouldn't have said that, should I? I'm sorry, I always say the most painfully stupid things-"

She moves, suddenly, cupping my cheek and gently turning my head back towards her before stopping my words with a deep, lingering kiss. I take a moment to react, I'm still taken by surprise that this is happening, I suppose, but then I respond eagerly, curling my fingers in her soft black hair, losing myself in her embrace.

"You don't say stupid things," she says softly when she finally pulls back. She holds me tightly and strokes my arm, gazing into my eyes. "You say wonderful things. I love you too, Merrill." She... she loves me. Hawke_ loves_ me. My heart stills at hearing those words. I wished and hoped to hear them, but I suppose, deep down, I never really believed I would. Which was silly of me really, wasn't it? Especially now, after everything we've said to each other, and after... after this. But still... she said it. She said love; not just like, or care, but_ love_. I mean, I did already know that she... that she loves me, I did, but... we hadn't really said it to each other up til now, not quite. Both of us too shy, too timid. Such idiots; this whole time, or near enough. Mythal, it's so wonderful to hear those words.

_She loves me._

Hawke takes a deep breath, and the look in her eyes completely entrances me as she opens her mouth to say it again. "I love you. I always have. From the moment I met you, I was lost. I want to be yours, if you'll have me."

I find I can only stare at her mutely, her words rendering me utterly voiceless with wonder. From the moment she met me? Really? But I started babbling like a fool the instant she tried to talk to me, asking her if it was rude to ask a human their name, of all completely ridiculous things, and then I was short with her when she asked me why I was leaving the clan, rude, even, and _then_, Elgar'nan, as if all that wasn't enough, I even told her I was sort of scared of humans. Well, maybe not in those words, exactly, but I might as well have.

_From the moment I met you, I was lost... oh, by the Creators..._

I try to speak, to tell her how wonderful she is, how I feel exactly, but my voice betrays me. She loves me. Despite everything, and against all odds, she loves me. I can still hardly believe it.

_I want to be yours, if you'll have me._

Of course I will. Mythal, nothing could ever keep me from her, not again. And she... she has worked so hard to get where she is, and she doesn't even care that being with me, with an elf... it will almost certainly turn the other nobles here against her, and well... I've heard how dangerous that can be, amongst humans. Well... anyone, really. People don't like it, when things are different. But Hawke knows all this already, and she doesn't care. She just loves me. I've done nothing to deserve someone like her. I don't know if anyone ever could.

Hawke gazes at me, her eyes growing anxious.

"What is it?" she asks softly. She sounds worried. "Merrill, what's the matter?"

I realise I've been silent, probably for quite a while, just sort of... staring at her._ Oh, by the Creators, start talking, Merrill, say something!_

"Nothing, Hawke," I tell her gently, trying to be reassuring. Mythal, I'm making such a mess of this! I stroke my hand through her hair as I try to explain myself. "I was just thinking... I know it doesn't matter to you, just like I don't care what my clan would think of us, together... and I really don't," I say firmly, realising I haven't actually told her so yet, not in so many words, anyway. She smiles at me, and I take a breath before I go on. "But... a human, and a noble at that, with an elf? You know what we'll face. You're... You're really not afraid?" I know that she is not. I don't really know why I'm asking, I just... I want to hear it. I want to hear the love in her voice, see the expression in her eyes, when she looks at me in that way she does, like there is nothing and no one else anywhere in the whole world. She never looks at anyone else that way, not ever.

Hawke says nothing for a moment; she just tilts her head and smiles a little, gazing at me with her sparkling, magical eyes, and I feel as though I've never really seen them before, at all. _Oh, Mythal, such eyes!_

"No," Hawke says at last. "I'm not afraid of that. Not in the least. I love you, Merrill. I need you. I don't ever want to be apart from you, not for a second longer than I have to." She cups my cheek tenderly in her hand, and I close my eyes blissfully, leaning into her caress. "In fact," Hawke continues in a husky whisper, "I was thinking of scandalising the neighbours by having my Dalish lover move in."

"Move in where?" I ask absently. I am a bit distracted at the moment, after all.

She laughs quietly. "Here, Merrill. I want you to live here, with me."

My eyes snap open in surprise, and I look at her sharply. "Here, in Hightown? The rich, fancy part of the city with no rats in it?" Oh, the humans will not like _that_, not one bit! "Are you... are you sure that's really a good idea?" I ask, trying not to sound nervous.

Hawke smiles into my eyes. "It's either that, or I move into the alienage with you. If you'd really miss your furry friends that much."

I laugh, and nuzzle my head into the hollow of her throat. "Ma vhenan, you really are crazy, aren't you?"

"If you didn't know that before now, my love, then you haven't been paying close enough attention," Hawke teases, stroking my cheek.

_My love. That's what she called me. I'm her love. And she... she is my heart. Ma vhenan._ I giggle again, softly, cuddling even closer into her side, still marvelling that I can, that she's letting me, that she wants me to. After everything, she still wants to be with me. My Hawke. She really is mine. And I'm hers.

Oh, yes, I am hers. Completely.

"Alright, if you're not afraid, then... neither am I, ma vhenan," I whisper, listening to her heartbeat, enraptured. If she doesn't care what the humans think, then I don't either. There is nothing to fear. She will keep us safe.

She kisses my brow softly, her arms tightening around me, and lays her cheek down tenderly on the top of my head. I could die now. Although I'd rather not, really, but if I did die, here in her arms, surely I could never be happier than I am right at this moment, even if I live a hundred years.

"What is it you keep calling me?" Hawke asks curiously after a little while, her hand moving up to toy with the braids in my hair.

I blush, suddenly shy. I suppose I hadn't really expected her to ask me straight out like this. I have been saying it rather a lot, I know, but I can't help it, really. I just like to say it. I guess I'd better tell her. She won't mind, will she? "M-ma vhenan. It... it's elven."

She strokes a finger gently along the rim of my ear, laughing softly. "Well, yes, I did manage to figure that much out for myself, somehow. But what does it mean?"

"Well, it... it means..." I hesitate, and then lift my hand and place it softly beside my cheek where it rests against her chest, feeling the steady throbbing beneath my fingers, listening to the gentle rhythmic pulse. "Ma vhenan means... 'my heart'," I whisper. "My love, my life. The reason I breathe."

I hear her soft intake of breath, feel the beat of her heart increase rapidly, and then she puts two fingers gently beneath my chin and lifts my head, leaning down to kiss me fiercely, passionately and yet, somehow, tenderly and sweetly as well. I've no idea how she manages to do all of that at once. I slip my hand up to rest against the back of her neck, drawing myself closer to her, accepting her kiss and returning it with all my heart, all my love. And I have so much, for her. _Emma lath, ma vhenan._

Hawke pulls back eventually and lays her head down on the pillow, gazing at me. She holds me for a few moments, silently tracing the vallaslin on my cheek with her fingertips, then surprises me suddenly by sitting up and reaching for something in the chest of drawers by the bed. When she turns back to face me, she holds a small cloth-wrapped bundle in her hands. "There is something I should give you," she says quietly, but firmly.

Is this... is this normal, after...after lovemaking? Oh, no, was I supposed to get her something too? Or is it just a human thing, in which case maybe she doesn't expect me to have gotten her anything? Should I ask her, or would that just ruin it completely? _Oh, stop it, now, just shut up and pay attention, Merrill!_

She lays the bundle before me, and I watch her, mystified, as she slowly unfolds the cloth. I take a sharp, quiet breath and raise my hand to my mouth as she finishes unwinding it; as I see what lies inside.

The arulin'holm.

Hawke stares down at it for a few moments, then takes a shaking breath and raises her head to look at me. "Merrill, I'm... so, so sorry I tried to keep this from you. As you said, I had no right to do so. I may not like what you're doing, but it is your decision. I realise that now. If I take it from you, I take away your right to choose. I was wrong. I kept it from you because...because..." She lowers her eyes, her voice dropping to hardly more than a whisper. "I was just... scared. I'm so scared, Merrill. I love you so much; more than I ever knew it was possible to love someone, and I'm terrified of losing you in the worst possible way. I didn't want to even entertain the possibility that a demon could take you; that all that you are; everything bright and pure and radiant and good could be warped and twisted by a force I can do nothing to fight until... until it's too late. I can't lose you, Merrill. " She looks up into my eyes, seemingly unaware of the tears running down her cheeks as she takes my face gently in her hands and whispers; "I can't lose the light of my world."

I close my eyes at that, my heart shivering within me at the desperate sound of her voice, the fearful look in her eyes, and then I throw myself at her, wrapping my arms tightly around her neck, stroking her hair and kissing away her tears. "Oh, Hawke. You will not lose me, ma vhenan, I swear to you. I know what this means to you. I'll be careful, I promise."

She holds me close for a long moment, before pulling back a little to gaze into my face. "I know you will, but... I still think there must be a better way - a safer way - to mend the mirror than with blood magic. I won't stop you from using it if you need to, but... there must be other options somewhere, surely. We just have to find out what they are, and then... you won't need blood magic any more. Will you... will you let me help you? Perhaps we can find a better way together."

_Together._

I nod, although I don't believe there is any other way. I researched every possible method I could find that might have had a chance of working before accepting Audacity's aid, after all, but... if will ease her mind about it... "I would like that," I tell her softly. She smiles.

I take the arulin'holm and lay it carefully aside. It is mine now, and I will make use of it, once I am sure the eluvian is safe and unharmed, but I will say no more to Hawke about it, and I will never let her see me using the arulin'holm or my blood magic again, not if I can help it. I know how Hawke must feel about the arulin'holm and... and everything; how much it must have cost her to relent. I cannot abandon my work; it will help me restore so much of my peoples' heritage, and this is the only way I can get the mirror to work again, I am sure of it. Unless we can find a way together... But until then, there is no point in rubbing Hawke's nose in it. The last thing I want to do is hurt her; any more than I have already, at least. All those terrible things I said to her back in the alienage... and yet here she is, still here with me, loving me. It's like a wonderful dream, only it's real. It is.

I turn back to her, feeling a sudden powerful rush of love and adoration and... rapture. Joy. Passion.

Hunger.

"Ma serannas, ma vhenan," I say softly; hardly recognising my own voice in the low, breathy whisper that purrs from my throat as I reach for her, and she holds out her arms for me, too, smiling, kissing me softly, lovingly; one hand raking through my hair as the other moves slowly over my skin, making me shiver all over, right down to my toes, gliding down my body in a wonderful, gentle, eager caress. I cling to her, pressing myself to her as closely as I can as she lies back down on the bed and pulls me with her, needing to feel her against me again, still caught up in the sheer wonder of knowing that she wants me, needs me.

Loves me.

Hawke _loves_ me.


	15. Chapter 15

_Sorry about not updating for a while, have been distracted by assignments, and job, and ME3 and stuff. Also recently found myself unable to access my account for some reason, which has happened to me before ; { . But I'm finally able to login again, so here's the next instalment. I know it's really long for a non-quest chapter, hope you don't mind. This chapter mostly exists because as much as I like the romance and companion conversation scenes in DA2, they are much too few and short for me, and I miss all the chats you can have with your Origins LI in the camp, whether exchanging cute banter, or sharing dark secrets, just getting to know one another better or whatever. Besides, I bet there's plenty of other stories out there that cover more quests if you want, but that's not really so much what I'm focusing on in this story. There will be a quest in the next chapter, but for now, just relationship stuff. Hope it doesn't bore you, but if it does, I'll make it up to you next time. That, or maybe you should find an adventure focused story to read as well, since I'm really more about expanding the relationship stuff than the stuff you can see playing the game._

_To everyone who has been faithfully following this, and those who favourite or story alert or review; a big thank you. Thanks so much for all the kind words (*blush*) and for constructive criticism too. I'm sorry if I haven't replied to a lot of you. I sort of lost track of who I had and hadn't, and then didn't have a lot of time free anymore, and then the whole login frustration thing. I really do appreciate it when you review, though, lets me know people are still interested, which motivates me. If it weren't for you lot, this story wouldn't have gone past chapter three. Instead it just keeps getting bigger, so thank you all very, very much!_

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><p>xxx M xxx<p>

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><p>"Ohhh... Maker, <em>yes<em>..."

Hawke sighs deeply, then leans forward a bit over her knees in the hot water, eyes closed blissfully as I bathe her gently, rubbing the soapy washcloth in little circles over her back. I'm doing quite a good job of it, too, at least, it certainly sounds as though I am.

I smile as she gives another contented sigh. "Does that feel good, then, ma vhenan?"

"Maker's breath, you have no idea..." Hawke's voice trails off dreamily. _Well, I sort of do, actually..._

"Are you sure you should be invoking the Maker's name in vain right now?" I ask her teasingly, running the cloth over the back of her neck. "What if he hears you?"

"Oh, let him," Hawke says dismissively, her tone light and flippant. "If you believe the Chantry I'm already cursed in his sight what with being a mage and all, and an apostate at that. How much more upset with me could he get? Besides, I doubt he'd pay any attention to me, since he apparently decided to stop listening to us failed creations long ago. Assuming he was ever there at all."

"Maybe that's just what he wants you to think. Maybe he's as clever a trickster as Fen'Harel." I make my voice playfully low and ominous as I dip the washcloth into the water again. Well, as low and ominous as I can actually make my voice go, anyway. "He could be watching us _right now_..."

Hawke chuckles quietly. "If he is, I'd bet ten sovereigns he's enjoying the show too much to care what I say about him." She glances over her shoulder at me and arches one eyebrow, smiling mischievously. "But if he did suddenly decide to smite me right at this moment, well... not a bad way to go, hmm?"

"I suppose not," I giggle, smiling as I resume my ministrations. Oh, this is _so_ lovely. It's so nice to have a proper bath like this, with hot water and everything; I never knew Hawke had her own private washroom joined to her chambers. And her bathtub is so big and deep, and it's not even made of splintery old wood like mine, either! No, this is made of smooth, polished stone; a great square tub built right into the corner, with its own little pump that draws water from an underground hot spring, all the way up here and straight into the bath! And without using any magic, as well! Hawke says the mansion was probably of dwarven-make, like the Chantry and the Keep, since it's about as old as they are. I think the dwarves must be very clever, then, to make something like this. I've no idea at all how it works, but I like it very much. It certainly makes bathing a lot easier. I haven't had a proper bath in ages, not a hot one, anyway. In the alienage, it takes far too long to fetch enough water, not to mention heating it all. Most mornings I just get a cold basin of water for a standing bath instead, which is quicker, though a lot less pleasant. I much prefer this sort of bath, I think, so deep and full of steamy hot water, fragrant with sweet smelling oils and perfumes... oh, yes, this is much nicer.

And the wet, naked woman in here with me doesn't hurt, either. Not in the slightest.

I scoop up some water in my hands and splash it over Hawke's shoulders, letting it run down her back to wash off all the lather and the little soapy bubbles. The early morning light streams brilliantly through the small, high windows, tiny rays of sunlight glinting radiantly through the darkly shining strands of her hair, gleaming in the little beads of water clinging to her skin, making her whole body seem to sparkle like diamonds and all of a sudden it's just too tempting, _she's _too tempting, and I can't help it; I hug her tightly from behind and lean down to bury my face in the crook of her neck and shoulder, placing a gentle kiss on her throat, tasting the fresh sweetness of her on my lips. I can't get enough of her; I couldn't have stopped myself even if I wanted to. Not that Hawke minds at all of course, not a bit; she just gives a soft, surprised laugh at my touch and lifts her head towards me, beaming happily as she turns her beautiful face to mine. She kisses me softly, and then leans back against me, letting her head rest against my shoulder. I press my lips to her forehead blissfully, feeling my heart swell with happiness.

"Any thoughts on how to spend the day once we're finished here, my love?" she asks, gazing up at me with a lovely little smile, her sweet silver voice full of warmth and tenderness.

My heart flutters wonderfully inside me. I hope I never get used to hearing her call me that, or to hearing that love infusing her every word whenever she speaks to me. "Assuming we make it out alive, you mean?" I say, smiling foolishly as I comb my fingers gently through her wet hair. She makes an appreciative noise deep in her throat, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure. I feel my smile grow even wider as I gaze down at her; wider and even more foolish, if that's even possible. "Why are you asking me? I thought for certain you would have had a few adventures lined up for us, already."

Hawke opens her eyes a little wider, apparently thinking about it for a moment. "No, actually," she says, raising her delicate brows in surprise. She sounds quite shocked. "I don't! No manhunts; no rescue missions; no lost hats, pants or finger bones to return to random people in dark corners. Not one person has requested my assistance for today. As far as I know, I am completely free." She gives a soft laugh. "What an odd feeing! About time I had a day off, I suppose."

"Well... maybe we could just stay in here all day, then?" I say, only half joking. She did ask me what I thought, after all.

She laughs again, and I shiver pleasurably as I feel her hand glide gently along my leg beneath the water. "Mm. That is unbelievably tempting..." she purrs, smiling wickedly, then sighs regretfully. "But I'm afraid that if I don't show up at the breakfast table, then either Bodahn or Mother will come looking for me, and then..." she trails off, quirking an eyebrow at me meaningfully.

"Oh. Right." I blush deeply at the thought of anyone walking in on us, right now. Especially Leandra. Creators, wouldn't that be a fine way to tell her about us! Though Hawke did say she knows already, sort of, about our feelings at least, but... I'd still _really_ rather no one saw us just now. Not in such an... intimate moment. She might know that we care for each other, but she doesn't need to see-

No, no, no. Best not to complete that thought, I think.

I bite my lip and look towards the washroom door nervously. "I hope they don't come looking for you, then. That would certainly be very awkward and embarrassing, wouldn't it?"

Hawke laughs again. "Just a bit, yes." She notices the direction of my worried gaze. "Don't worry, it's locked, and so is the bedchamber door. No one can come barging in on us; unless they're really determined to, of course. But if we take long enough then Mother might get slightly worried and ask Bodahn to break the door down or something, and then... well, I'd just really prefer that we were both clothed before we see anyone this morning, wouldn't you?" I nod in fervent agreement, and she reaches up and traces my lips with warm, gentle fingers, making me smile. Her mouth curves into a sweet half-smile of her own as she looks up at me. "Speaking of clothes, why don't we go and stop by your house in the alienage after breakfast? You can pick up a few of your things and bring them back here; some of your tunics and leggings, and such." She tilts her head, a rather cheeky sort of expression coming over her face. She is very cute, sometimes. "Not that I mean for you to need them very often now, but I suppose we will have to get out of bed occasionally," she grins. "I know one thing for certain, though; you aren't going to be needing any night-time things anymore."

I giggle, blushing harder, and her smile grows wider.

I'm going to live with Hawke. I'm going to live here, in her house, with her. I am! I can still hardly believe it! I nod again, happily this time. "Alright, let's do that, then," I say, distracted from my worrisome thoughts by her touch, and her smile. Creators, that lovely smile. I give myself another tiny shake before I lose my train of thought completely, and then hesitate for a moment before I speak again. I'm not sure if I should mention it, really, but... she did say she wanted to help me with the mirror, didn't she?

"And I'd... I'd like to examine the eluvian, while we're there, to see if it is... um, unharmed."

I wait a little apprehensively for her response, but Hawke just makes a small thoughtful noise, nodding a little. "I wouldn't mind taking a closer look at it myself, if you don't mind," she says. "I'd like to do a more thorough examination before we start searching for better ways to work on it, so I know more of what to look for. And you should probably teach me everything you know about it, if I'm going to be of any use to you." She meets my gaze, looking quite serious all of a sudden. "I meant what I said about helping you to fix it, you know. I should never have tried to stop you, I just... I just got a little... overprotective, I suppose."

I raise one of my eyebrows at her, smiling gently. "A little?"

She lowers her eyes. "I'm sorry, Merrill. I never wanted to hurt-"

I place a finger over her lips, stilling her words. I didn't mean to make her feel badly! There's no need to think of all that anymore, it is done with now. She was only trying to protect me. Because she loves me. "Ma vhenan," I say firmly. "Hush. I know. There's no need to apologise again. And I'm pretty sure I forgave you already, so don't think about that anymore, please. I'm not going to."

She lifts her hand and lays it gently against my cheek again in that wonderful gesture of unspoken love. "I have no idea what I did to deserve you," she whispers, gazing at me with such a wondrous, loving look in her shining sapphire eyes.

"Did you call the Maker a dirty name, perhaps?" I enquire, smiling.

Her eyes narrow just a little in exasperation - she doesn't like it when I put myself down, even in jest. But then she smiles, tilting her head at me. "_Ah_, that must be it. He must like that sort of thing, then, to reward me so," she says, managing to twist my meaning around to flatter me somehow, like always. She's so clever. "Guess the miserable old nug-licker has a sense of humour after all!" she says loudly as she raises her eyes to the ceiling, a cheeky smirk playing over her rosy lips as she gleefully voices one of Varric's favourite curses, and then she sits up and turns around completely in the water as I giggle at her silly behaviour, taking the washcloth gently from my unresisting hands. Wet tendrils of black hair curl softly against her temples, and her eyes smile into mine, stealing my breath away completely.

"My turn," she says firmly, smiling, her tone allowing for absolutely no argument whatsoever. Not that I plan to make any, of course.

She turns me around gently to face away from her and I smile, closing my eyes as she slowly begins to stroke the wet cloth over my skin, sluicing the sweet warm water over my back and shoulders. A contented sigh escapes me as the delicate pressure of her gentle touch sends pleasant shivers down my spine; shivers which grow stronger a moment later when she presses her soft lips against the back of my neck, making me gasp in delight. She pulls away from me for a moment, and I try to turn and look for her, anxious that she might be getting out all of a sudden; I don't want this to be over, not yet! Then her arm suddenly curls firmly about my waist, holding me still as she resettles herself closer behind me, pressing herself against my back. Oh, so that's what she was doing. Well... that's good, then. I lean into her, revelling in the warmth of her, the closeness, the silky touch of skin on skin...

"I'm not finished with you, yet," she murmurs in my ear, as though seeing straight into my mind, reading my thoughts. A foolish, happy giggle escapes me and I'm blushing fiercely, I know it, but I don't mind a bit and neither does she, I'm sure. She gives a sweet little laugh of her own and starts to cover my cheek with gentle kisses, languidly stroking the warm wet cloth along my collarbone, making me shiver as little chill bumps raise along the surface of my skin despite the heat of the water. I watch her movements; my eyes following her hand as she moves it a little lower, gliding the washcloth gently down over my...

I frown, suddenly, and look more closely at her hand. She has... some odd marks all over the back of it and on her fingers too; faint lines and tracks across her skin, like... scars. Very faded, certainly, but they're there. I never noticed those before, but then, I suppose I've never really had the opportunity to look at her hands like this, really, have I? Not even last night, not without being distracted by... other things, anyway. And not up this close, either, in the sunlight and all. I'm not certain they'd be visible if it wasn't so bright. Even now I can hardly see them, they look as though they have faded over a very long period of time, but still... they must have been very nasty at some point.

The question leaves my lips before I can think better of it. "Ma vhenan... what are all these little scars, here, all over your hands? How did you get them?"

Her hand stills in its gentle movements, and I feel her body tense a little against me. "Ah," she says after a moment, in a voice that tells me that... that it's something she'd rather not think about, at all... oh, dear. So of course I bring it up, why wouldn't I do that? Elgar'nan! Trust me to go and spoil the moment by reminding her of something like... whatever could have caused such scars.

I twist my head back to look up at her worriedly. "Is it something very bad? I shouldn't have asked, should I? I'm sorry, ma vhenan. You don't have to tell me what happened if you'd rather not, just pretend I never mentioned it-"

She smiles at me gently. "It's alright, Merrill. I suppose I knew you'd ask me sooner or later," she says. Her voice is soft, but there is quiet laughter and affection in her tone, not rebuke, and I instantly feel better. Well... a little better, anyway. The rest of me is still fretting over what could have hurt her so badly. She didn't say it was anything very bad, but... she didn't say that it wasn't, either... I should drop it really; from the way she reacted, I know I should, but... I can't help but feel anxious about it now. What could have happened to her?

I sit up and turn around, watching Hawke apprehensively, my heart clenching anxiously as she looks down at her fingers, the haunted look of a painful memory crossing her features for a moment. She takes a deep, quiet breath and lets it out slowly. "It happened when I was a child," she says, and then bites her lip a little. "When my magic first manifested. There was an... incident, and... my hands were... broken, very badly. Every bone, in fact."

_Every... Creators, how?_ Did she hurt herself somehow, when she first discovered her magic? "But... your father was a healer, wasn't he?" I ask worriedly, and she nods a little.

"He was, and a very good one, too. He did his best, but... there was a lot of damage, in some places bad enough to... tear the skin, as you can see," she says softly, turning the back of her hand toward me, drawing my eyes to the myriad faint scars across her skin. _Creators, what happened?_ I don't speak, I don't want to interrupt her, but I'm starting to feel very worried, now. Hawke sighs quietly. "Maybe it would have helped if he'd gotten to me sooner, but..."

She was alone? "Your father wasn't with you, then? He wasn't there to help you control it?"

She shakes her head. "No. It was just Bethany and me."

I frown at that, feeling more concerned than ever. A child, feeling her magic for the first time without anyone there to tell her what was happening, or how to manage it... Creators. That would just be the most absolutely terrifying experience. Oh, my poor little Hawke!

"Do... do you want to talk about it?" I ask quietly.

After a moment, she nods slowly. "Alright."

She turns me gently to face away from her so she can draw me close against her again, wrapping one arm about my waist and the other around my shoulders, and then she rests her chin gently on top of my shoulder before she starts to speak. I place my one hand over hers where she clutches my shoulder, and lay the other gently on her forearm, stroking my thumbs over her skin in what I hope is a soothing sort of way. I can't see her face at all, with her head on my shoulder like this, but then; maybe she doesn't want me to. Not right now, anyway. Maybe... maybe it's easier for her if I can't.

"It was a long time ago, now, when I was ten years old," Hawke begins softly. "We were living in a little village in the Southron Hills at the time. It wasn't the nicest place, but it was quite remote; well out of the way of templar hunters who might have come looking for Father. We'd moved there a few months before, after a unit came to our last town. Neither Bethany nor I had shown any signs of magic yet, so we had no reason to be cautious around people then." She gives the smallest of laughs. "Apart from making sure not to mention that our father was an escaped circle mage in hiding, of course, but other than that, we could go where we liked without having to worry about Templars or anything." She pauses, just for a moment. "I was out in the fields at the edge of town playing with Bethany, and some of the village children came by. They didn't know us very well yet, so they still tended to treat us like outsiders, picking fights with Carver, or teasing Bethany and me." She gives a small, short sigh, her voice laced with threads of smouldering anger and resentment. "I believe it was a favourite pastime of theirs. Wasn't much else for them to do, I suppose."

That seems... very cruel. Most of my clan mates were often shy of me even when we were children, because I was the First and new to the clan, but I was never made to feel like I didn't belong, never taunted just for not being born amongst them. Is this normal for children in human society? I wouldn't have thought so. I can't see any of my human friends behaving like that as children. Hawke would never have been like that.

I turn my head a little, trying to see some of her expression. I still can't really see her properly, but she looks... very sad. She turns her face towards mine for just a moment before she looks away again, but not before I see a dark shadow in her eyes; a flash of remembered hurt, of old fear that she doesn't want me to see, and I feel a sharp stab of worry in my chest. "What happened then?" I ask her gently.

She strokes my shoulder absently as she starts to tell me what came next. "As soon as they spotted us, they headed straight for us, surrounded us like a pack of mabari pups - very mean spirited mabari pups, mind you - trapping a pair of lost kittens. One of them said something nasty to Bethany - she was the easiest target, you see, the most sensitive - and the others joined in, following the little bastard's lead. I don't know where they learned to trade insults, particularly in such a small town, but some of the things they were saying..." Hawke shakes her head disgustedly. "Well, they wouldn't have been out of place in any seedy Lowtown tavern. Bethany got upset and I, of course, decided to improve our situation by very helpfully making some sort of smart-mouthed comment to the ringleader. And his idea of a witty comeback was to throw a rock at Bethany." She lets out her breath in a sound almost like a growl, and I feel an answering anger on her behalf, and for her poor little sister as well. "It hit her in the head and made her cry, and that's when I... I got furious, and then..." She trails off.

Oh. Of course. Such strong emotions often trigger the first release of magic in a mage child. Not always, but I believe it can very often happen like that. "That's when your magic came," I finish for her.

"Yes," she says hesitantly, her tone growing dark. "And it didn't come quietly," she murmurs in an ominous sort of way, and then falls silent again.

What does she mean by that? Did she... lose control of it, hurt herself? That can happen too... the youngest da'len - probably the Keeper's new First, by now - had something like that happen, just before I left the clan. He created a stone fist by accident when his power manifested, and would have dropped it on his foot in surprise if the Keeper hadn't been there to guide him. Perhaps something like that happened to her, only no one was there to stop her getting hurt? That would have been very nasty. It must be such a painful memory. Oh, why did I ever have to bring it up? I wait for her to continue; I hardly think that was the end of it, but she doesn't say anything more. I suppose it must be very hard to speak of, whatever came next.

"How did it happen?" I ask her eventually, keeping my voice soft. I'm not really sure whether I truly want to hear it if it was that bad, I can't stand the thought of Hawke being hurt, but... I did start this, after all, and she needs to finish it.

"I..." Her own voice is hushed now, too, so faint it is barely a whisper. "I... called lightning. Great, crackling balls of it in both hands; easily as much as I'd be able to handle now, but back then... I didn't mean to call it, and luckily I didn't hurt anyone; I managed to shoot it into a tree nearby instead, somehow, but... I remember being so scared. Bethany was just as frightened as I was, but at least we had both actually seen magic before, from Father. The other children, though..." Hawke sighs. "They were completely terrified. They didn't understand what was happening, and that made them crazy. Terrified, angry and crazy." She draws in a deep breath. "I stepped towards them with my hands held out, which now I know was foolish, since it only scared them more. I just wanted to show them it was alright, but... one of the boys yelled that I was going to hurt them, and... they attacked me, knocked me to the ground. I yelled at Bethany to go home, to get Father, and she ran."

I realise I've been holding my breath, and let it out as quietly as possible; I don't want to interrupt her. At the same time, I... I almost don't want her to keep going, not if it is going to be as bad as it seems, now. But I think I should hear it. I need to. I should know about what happened to her. If it wasn't her magic that hurt her... then...

She raises her hand from the water again and examines it for a moment. When she speaks again, her voice is odd. Sort of... blank, detached. Distant, even. Maybe that's how she has to be, to talk of this. "The leader, the one who threw the rock, an older boy... he said I'd try to hurt them again, said they had to 'stop the witch from making the lightning', so... some of them held me down, stretched my arms out, and then..." She pauses, still looking down at her hand, the little scars now showing starkly white against her heat-flushed skin. "The others started... they... they broke my hands, stamped on them, crushed my fingers... Maker, it hurt, but I couldn't move, couldn't get away from them and... once they finally let up, well..." She draws another long, deep breath. "My hands, my fingers... every bone was shattered, my was skin torn, bleeding... Andraste, it was awful..." Her voice tails away.

_By all the gods..._

I sit in stunned silence in the water. Mythal have mercy... how they do that? How could anyone be capable of such a terrible act of cruelty, especially children? _Elgar'nan!_ No one among the clans would _ever_ do such a thing! All Dalish are taught from birth that magic is a gift, just as useful as the talents of hunters or crafters. I know humans feel differently about mages, of course I do, and I know fear makes people do monstrous things, but... that something like this could have happened to her... and to hear that it was _children_ who committed such a dreadful, horrible act... _Oh, Mythal have mercy_...

"I... oh, Hawke..." I whisper at last, blinking back tears as I turn to throw my arms about her, heedless of the water I send splashing out over onto the floor as I do so. "I'm... I can't... how could they do that? You were just a child..."

My throat closes and I can't say anything else, but she understands. "Shh, it's alright." She holds me to her and I hug her fiercely, though I think I am far more upset by her story than she is. "They were only children themselves," she says after a moment, rubbing my back gently. "They were scared."

But that is no comfort, and it is just... it is no excuse! "That only makes it worse! How could _children_ do such a thing?"

She sighs quietly. "They were terrified, and confused, with heads full of Chantry propaganda, and Chasind stories about the 'Witch of the Wilds' coming to snatch them away and devour them. That was all they knew of magic. Their reaction was... understandable. And it was a long time ago." Her arms tighten about me, and she lays her hand gently on the nape of my neck soothingly, kissing the top of my head. "I'm fine now. It's alright."

_It's not alright. It's not. How could they...? _

I take a breath, trying to calm down a bit, and I manage to eventually. A little, anyway. I pull back a bit to look at her. Her eyes are so sad... "What happened then, after they... I mean, they didn't go and get the Templars to take you to the circle..." _Well, of course they didn't, did they? She wouldn't be here, if they had._

"No," Hawke says, shaking her head. "They ran away and left me there, after I... blacked out. They would have gone straight to their parents, though. They must have been hysterical, terrified..." She really sounds as though she's... sorry for them. Even after what they did to her, hurting her so badly. Breaking her fingers... _crushing_ them...

I close my eyes. _Creators..._

"Bethany ran home and brought Father and Carver before anyone came back. I'm just lucky that Father was such an excellent healer or I'd have lost the use of my hands, or at least a few fingers." Hawke raises her hand and flexes her fingers a little, as though to prove to herself that she still can, fighting the memory of having them broken, perhaps. _Oh,_ _gods above_... "He managed to save them all in the end and I was lucky to come away with only a few scars, but as it is..." She sighs again, spreading her fingers out before her. "They're not exactly pretty, are they?"

_Mythal_. I know she isn't asking for... for compliments, or reassurance at all, but I can't stand to hear her say such things. She is beautiful, every inch of her, scars or no. I take her hand in mine and bring her fingers to my lips, kissing them gently and hearing her quick intake of breath as I do so. I'm still amazed that I have that effect on her. "I think they are," I say quietly. "Even if you don't think so, I do, Hawke. These are the hands of... of a healer, a protector, a..." I bite my lip, glancing down shyly. "A lover. They are _beautiful_. Just like the rest of you."

Hawke gives a small, surprised laugh, her fingers squeezing mine affectionately. "You're so sweet, Merrill."

"Not as sweet as you," I tell her fervently, and she chuckles again softly.

"Well, now you're just trying to make me blush," she accuses, smiling at me, her voice warm and loving.

I smile. "Maybe I am, a little. It would be nice if it wasn't just me, for a change." She laughs again, and I trace the marks on her hands gently with my fingertips, trying to find something more positive to say, something to keep us feeling brighter after such a dark tale. "And anyway, the patterns the scars make are... sort of nice, actually. At least, I think so. These curved ones look like a lot of tiny little crescent moons. And there's lightning, here," I tell her, running my thumb over a longer, more jagged scar across the back of her hand. "Like a stormy night sky..." I trail off, blushing as I hear the words. Creators, I must sound so foolish.

Hawke leans back against the side of the bath, pulling me to her again, and I lay my head down on her chest. "I love the way you do that," she murmurs into my ear. "Always seeing the brightness and wonder in everything." She hugs me even closer, and I nestle into her, feeling tingling warmth spreading right through me. And not just on account of all the hot water.

"You can't really see them, anyway, not unless you look right up close," I reassure her softly. "And besides," I say quietly after a moment, not sure whether or not I should bring it up at all; I'm not exactly certain how she will take it. But... it might make her feel better about her own marks, if I remind her of mine. "I'm pretty sure I have a lot more scars on my hands than you do, ma vhenan." I raise my hand for her to see the scars on my palms and all down my arms. She healed all my newest ones almost completely last night, but I still have many older ones; some no more than faded white lines; some deeper, more angry, still red and glaring insolently up at us from the surface of my skin.

She doesn't say anything for a little while, not a word, not a sound. A little ball of anxiety starts to burn apprehensively within me. Oh, no... maybe I shouldn't have said anything. What if all I did was remind her of my blood magic, and the arulin'holm, and everything I told her not to think about, anymore? I might have just made her feel worse, and that isn't what I meant to do at all, not a bit! I feel myself getting steadily more nervous as the silence draws out almost unbearably... but then, all at once her soft silver laughter suddenly breaks the awful silence and she catches my hand in her own again and brings my palm to her lips, gently kissing the raised and broken lines carved across it with sweet tenderness.

"Yes, I suppose you do. You win," Hawke says, laughing again. "You always do, in the end," she whispers, and places a gentle kiss on my forehead, still holding onto my hand tightly.

I'm not really sure what she means by that, but it doesn't matter. I'm just glad I made her laugh. "I am sorry that happened to you, though, Hawke." I tell her. "It's terrible that such a thing could happen to a child, not to mention that your first experience of your magic was such an awful one. And it must have been very hard for your sister, as well! She would have been quite shaken by what happened to you."

"She was," Hawke agrees sadly, her voice quiet again.

"I remember... I think you told me once that Bethany was always a bit scared of her own magic," I ask hesitantly. I hate to ask, but somehow... I just have to. It's something I've always wondered about, considering the way Hawke embraces her magic as the gift that it is... and since we're talking about it already... "So... is that... is that why she was so afraid, then, of being a mage, I mean? Because of what happened to you?"

"Yes, I think it was," Hawke says softly. "One of the reasons, at least. She never said as much to me, but I knew her well enough to see it." She sighs deeply. "It didn't do my relationship with Carver any favours, either. Before that day, we'd only ever had to leave a town when Father thought that someone was getting suspicious of him, and we always had time to prepare properly before we left. No one ever knew for certain he was a mage. This time, of course, it was different; we had to run and leave everything behind, before the Templars came looking for me. Carver was just a little boy; he didn't really understand why we had to go and leave everything behind, including all his belongings. But he knew it was because of me. I don't think he ever really forgave me for that. And Bethany... when her magic manifested at last, a couple of years later... she was terrified. She saw the way the other children reacted to seeing my magic, and..." she lifts her arm, holding her fingers up in front of us as the rivulets of water highlight the path of her scars "...what they did to me because of it. She was always so afraid of her own magic, all because of that day." She lowers her hand back beneath the water, curling it about my waist again. "Petrified of her gift, because I lost control of mine."

Oh, no. No. I'll be having none of that. I sit up a little before she can tighten her hold, and press my hand gently to her cheek to make her look at me."You were only a child, Hawke. You can't blame yourself for that," I tell her firmly.

She looks at me expressionlessly for a moment as I hold her gaze determinedly, but then at last she smiles, though it's a little bit crooked. "I know. I just... I wish it had never happened, I suppose." Her smile fades slowly, and a familiar sad, troubled look creeps into her eyes. "If she hadn't been so afraid, if she'd been more eager to learn, she could have been more prepared when the blight came and... maybe she wouldn't have... she might still be-"

I sit up completely. "Ma vhenan," I interrupt her before she can take it any further, burden herself with even more irrational guilt than she already carries. She is not responsible for her sister's death, any more than for Carver's loss. She isn't. I look into her eyes, making sure I have her complete attention. "I want you to stop doing that, please."

She blinks in surprise, and then tilts her head at me questioningly as she sits forward a little. "What do you mean?"

I frown at her a little. "Thinking everything is your fault, all the time. Always blaming yourself for things that are beyond your control. You're not allowed to do it, anymore," I inform her, trying to sound as serious as I can manage. "I won't have it."

Her eyes search mine briefly, and then she arches one of her brows at me a little. "Is that so?"

"Yes," I reply firmly. I mean it.

A wide smile spreads across her face, and she inclines her head a little; the way Aveline's guards do whenever she gives them an order. "Very well, then. As you wish," she says, her eyes sparkling with mirth and laughter.

I study her carefully, and then nod, satisfied. She certainly sounds sincere enough, anyway. "Good. Because if you do it again, I'm afraid I am going to get very cross with you."

Hawke chuckles quietly. "Well, I don't want that," she says, a trace of fond laughter in her lovely, melodic voice. "Any other rules that I should know about, while we're on the topic?"

I think for a moment. There's nothing that occurs to me right now, although I might think of something else later, of course. "Oh, no, not really. Not yet, anyway. I'll tell you if I think of something," I tell her. "Do you have any for me?"

"Oh, not yet. I'll tell you if I think of something," she mimics me cheekily, smiling as I scowl at her with pretend ferocity, and then she tightens her arms about me and pulls me into her lap, making me giggle. "There is something I'd like to ask you, though," she says, cuddling me close. "If you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind, Hawke, don't be silly," I chide her very gently. She can ask me whatever she likes, now, it's only fair. "You can ask me anything. What do you want to know?"

She cocks her head at me curiously, gazing into my eyes. "Could you tell me how it happened for you?" she asks. "When you first learned you were a mage, I mean. You were four, weren't you? That's very young. Do you even remember?"

"I do," I tell her, nodding a little. Well, that's easy enough, I think. "Not everything, but... I certainly remember that."

I don't have many memories from when I was that small, only flashes, fragments, mostly little more than a blur, now. Shards of memories from a life I once had, so far away that it's almost like a dream. But the day the magic came... that memory is as sharp and clear as though it were only yesterday.

I look down for a moment, watching the shimmering rainbow patterns forming where the sunlight touches the scented oils in the water as I think about how to start. Not that it's a particularly difficult tale to tell; it certainly isn't anything like what happened to Hawke, nothing violent or painful. I was fortunate in that, but it isn't very exciting at all, either. My life story is about as fascinating as a stale, dry biscuit. Better just keep it short and simple, then, I don't want to bore Hawke to tears.

"It happened very suddenly." I begin eventually. "I was watching my mother weave an intricate reed basket, something nice to trade with the shemlens, I suppose - I remember her fingers weaving the stalks in and out and around, so clever and nimble."

I can see it in my mind as I speak, remember the awe and fascination I felt watching my mother creating something so pretty and delicate from nothing but a handful of dried reeds, wishing I could make something so lovely with my clumsy little fingers, and then...

"I reached out to touch her work... and suddenly out of nowhere, I... I accidentally set fire to it, somehow, and the flames consumed it, and then started spreading... The clan managed to keep the fire from destroying anything else until the Keeper came and took care of it, but..." I frown as the old, faded memory of it suddenly reawakens;

...the sudden flare of light and heat sparking from my little fingertips... Mamae dropping her half-finished basket and snatching me up out of reach of the magical flames that devoured her creation hungrily, then began creeping impossibly along the barren earth of the camp ground in search of more food, like a ravenous beast of living flame... the panicked, confused shouts the clan as they hurried to move aravels and crates out of the way of the fire's consuming path... my tears of shock and terror, and my mother trying to calm me...

_...Hush, Merrill, emma da'vhenan. Ma reth, numin'din... _

"What caused your magic to surface?" Hawke asks gently, her soft words breaking through the half forgotten memory of my mother's comforting voice.

I blink as I lift my head and glance at her, shrugging helplessly. "I don't know. I have no idea what could have triggered it, I wasn't angry, or upset, or anything like that, when it happened. If anything, it was just the opposite; I was feeling safe and loved, and, well... completely happy. Maybe that feeling was strong enough in itself to provoke my magic into coming out somehow. I couldn't say, really. Not for certain."

"Must have been frightening for you, though," Hawke comments softly.

I nod. "Oh, yes. It was. Partly because I was afraid my mother would be cross with me for ruining her weaving. But also because I didn't know what was happening, and there was a fire and everyone was panicking, so... I was very scared, yes. But the Keeper came quickly - not Marethari, the Keeper of the Alerion, I mean - and he got rid of the fire and told me not to be frightened, helped me get my mana under control so I didn't hurt anyone, or myself, either. I don't remember much more than that. The Arlathvhen was held soon after that, and then I was sent to the Sabrae to study under Marethari. That's about it, really." I feel an indignant frown form on my lips as I look into her eyes, feeling my anger building as I think of her own first experience. "No one was angry or fearful, though, when it happened. The Dalish would never do anything to hurt a mage child, like what happened to you." I shift myself a little so that I can lay my head against her chest, cuddling into her, needing to be close to her. "Magic is a gift; it is nothing to be feared. All the People know this."

"I always knew the elves were much cleverer than humans," she says, a smile in her voice, and she shifts a little to accommodate me as I resettle myself, letting me curl against her body, holding me close.

I laugh softly at her playful words, closing my eyes as the rhythmic thudding of her strong, brave heart draws me into a sort of blissful calm, lulled by the soothing heat of the water, and the warmth of Hawke's embrace. I very nearly drift off, but Hawke speaks suddenly, and her gentle voice brings me back to myself.

"Do you have many memories of them? Your mother, your father?"

"I have... a few, yes," I answer, my voice soft. "Not much, though. Just a few images, sounds..."

I hesitate, reluctant. I don't like to think about my parents very much - it tends to make me sad when I do - but... it must have brought back such terrible memories for her, telling me about her hands, yet she was so open about it, and brave. So trusting. Should she expect anything less from me, especially when my memories can't be anything close to as painful as hers? I think for a moment, trying to give her as detail much as I can remember. I forgot how much it can hurt, sometimes, to try and remember them, but... it's good, too. I shouldn't forget them.

"I remember watching a man - my father - remember running toward him. He seemed so tall. I can't... can't remember what he looked like very well, not really... but I remember his smile, and that he would lift me up and twirl about me in the air, and I remember shrieking with laughter because it felt like flying. And I remember the musical sound of my mother's voice, when she would tell me stories of griffons, or Arlathan, and sing me to sleep at night in our aravel." I glance down at my reflection in the surface of the water, just beneath my chin. I can see Hawke's face too, looking down at me with a slightly worried expression. Do I sound very sad? "I can see her face in my mind, sometimes, when I try really hard to remember. It isn't always clear anymore, but... her eyes are just like mine..."

Another memory resurfaces. A man's voice, a strong, caring voice...

_...All Dalish have a duty to help one another. Be brave, Merrill, my little one... _

And a softer, melodic voice, filled with warmth, and comfort, and love, but trembling on the edge of tears...

_... we will always love you, da'vhenan... you must be brave, now..._

...pale emerald eyes, wet with tears as a stranger, a woman with hair like snow and golden vallaslin and kind green eyes that are_ not_ my mother's lifts me gently from my mother's arms and carries me away to where an unfamiliar group of aravels stand waiting, surrounded by a sea of unknown faces. _Mamae_? I watch over the woman's shoulder as my father pulls my mother into his strong arms... she begins to sob brokenly into his chest as he presses his lips to her hair, his eyes squeezing tightly shut in sorrow... The woman taking me away from them climbs into an aravel and I twist in her arms as it begins to move, eyes searching desperately, staring out of the open window, watching through rapidly blurring vision as my mother and father become smaller, fading into the distance, farther and farther away from me until I can't see them anymore... I can't see them... they're gone...

"You must miss them," Hawke says quietly. She lifts a hand to cradle my head, stroking my hair gently. Her eyes, reflected in the water, are full of sorrow and compassion and love.

I blink hard to dispel the old memory, and press my cheek more firmly into her chest, seeking comfort from her warmth and her heartbeat. "Sometimes, yes..." I manage to say, forcing my voice not to shake. There's no reason to be upset, still. It was a long time ago, and I have a new life... and a love that I would not trade for anything, one which I would never have had, otherwise. I should tell her that, too; I don't want her to be sad for me. "But, Hawke... if I hadn't been given to the Sabrae, then I never would have come to Sundermount, and then... I never would have met you. And I can't imagine being without you, ma vhenan, not ever."

Hawke strokes my cheek gently with the backs of her fingers. "Then I promise you will never have to be, not if I can help it," she says fervently, and I smile as my arms tighten about her. I feel a lot better, now.

"Good."

The faint sound of clanging pots and pans suddenly reaches my ears, and I cock my head to listen, sitting up again.

"What is it?" Hawke asks curiously.

"There's someone up and about, I think," I tell her. "In the kitchen, maybe? I can hear pots being banged about downstairs."

"Oh, that must be Bodahn getting breakfast started," she says. "I'll have to take your word for it, though. I can't hear anything." She takes the tip of my ear between her fingers and gives it a playful tug, making me giggle. "Guess it's that sharp elfy hearing of yours."

"You really can't hear anything? He's making an awful lot of noise, down there." She just shakes her head. "Does he always make breakfast for you?" I ask curiously.

"Only when he manages to beat me to it," Hawke says wryly, her arms closing about me, pulling me against her again as she leans back in the water. "I much prefer to make my own."

I twist my head to glance up at her in astonishment. "You like to cook?" I didn't know that! She is full of surprises. It's going to be so wonderful, discovering all of them. I giggle, picturing her bustling about in the kitchen, making cakes and pies and things, and a delighted smile breaks across my face at the image. "Oh, that is _very _cute, Hawke."

Hawke blushes a little, a bashful half smile on her face as she looks down at me. "Alas, my darkest secret is revealed. You won't tell anyone, will you? It would ruin my fearsome reputation."

I bite my lip thoughtfully, pretending to think about it for a moment. "I suppose I could keep it to myself, if you'll make me something extra special for breakfast. Tomorrow, I suppose, since it's too late now."

Her smile widens. "Anything in particular in mind?"

"Can you make muffins? Or maybe a cake?"

Hawke laughs. "I certainly can. But somehow, I think Bodahn will be beating me to the kitchen tomorrow as well, I'm afraid. And a lot more often, from now on," she quips with a cheeky, adorable grin, raising an eyebrow meaningfully at me. "Not that I mind, of course. Not in the least."

I giggle again. "But you didn't really mind it before, did you? I mean, isn't he supposed to do things for you? I thought he was your..." I pause, trying to remember the proper term. "Manservant? Is that the word?"

Hawke nods. "Mm-hm. But he's more of a self-appointed one," she says, sounding amused. "And very well paid, I might add. He was just so determined to repay me for finding Sandal, I couldn't say no. Or rather, he wouldn't take 'no, really, I'm fine,' for an answer. I suppose I don't mind all that much, but I still find the whole concept of having someone trying to do everything for me more than a little uncomfortable. I really just prefer to do things for myself; so much so that the start of every day now begins with what can only be described as a desperate race to the kitchen, to see who can get breakfast started first."

"I suppose he wins this morning, then?" I say, listening idly to the clattering coming from downstairs. It's getting louder.

She grins, lowering her head to nuzzle my nose. "Mm-hm. But I got the prize."

I laugh. "You are being silly."

"But you love it when I'm silly," she protests as another lovely grin breaks across her face. "I know you do, admit it."

"Yes," I admit, smiling happily. "I do. But... couldn't you just tell Bodahn he doesn't have to do that, then? I bet he'd let you make everyone's breakfast if you told him that you _like_ cooking."

"I tried, Maker knows I keep trying, but he just says, 'Oh, it's no trouble, messere!' and waves me off." She laughs lightly. "It's become sort of an ongoing daily war between us. Good natured, of course, but a war nonetheless. Not just over breakfast, either."

She starts stroking her fingers through my hair as she speaks, combing out the wet, tangled mess of my braids. It feels very nice. I close my eyes blissfully, resting my head against her again, nuzzling into the hollow of her throat. "Why? What other sorts of things does he try to do for you?" I ask absently, thoroughly enjoying her attentions.

She gives a mildly frustrated groan. "_Everything._ Patch my clothes, shine my boots, rekindle my lamps and hearth fire in the mornings..."

My eyes snap open and I lift my head to look at her worriedly. What? But... Creators, the fire was blazing already, when I awoke in Hawke's arms, in her bed, both of us... naked, together. Under the covers, of course, but still... very much naked. He didn't... surely Hawke wouldn't have let him...?

Hawke notices my expression and gives a little chuckle. "I lit the fire myself before you woke, love, don't fret. I'd hardly have let him in this morning, now, would I? Besides, the door was locked, remember?"

I breathe a silent sigh of relief, lowering my head and shaking it a little, feeling foolish. Of course it was. And of course she wouldn't have let anyone inside this morning. "Oh, yes. Right. Good." She always seems to know just what I'm thinking, somehow. "It was silly of me to think you would have, anyway. Let him into your room, I mean."

Hawke smiles as she lifts my chin gently with her fingers, raising my face towards hers. "It's your room now too, Merrill. _Our_ room," she corrects me gently, lowering her mouth to mine, and I curl my fingers in her hair, pressing myself against her to meet her kiss, the words echoing wonderfully in my mind. _Our room._

Exuberant, happy barking suddenly sounds throughout the house, along with several very loud cries of "Doggie!"

Hawke lifts her head with a sigh, apparently hearing the racket this time, glancing towards the washroom door and smiling. "That'll be Sandal, feeding the dog downstairs. If Mother wasn't up already, she will be now, after all that noise." She looks back at me. "Want to join her for breakfast?"

I bite the inside of my cheek as my insides suddenly roil with nerves. I try desperately not to let it show, but I very much doubt I manage it. "I-I... "

Mythal, I'm being foolish. It really shouldn't worry me so much, should it? Leandra is lovely and kind, just like Hawke, and she's always been so nice to me, but... I'm still so unbelievably nervous about her what reaction will be to me living here, in Hawke's house. With me and Hawke together. I shake my head at myself in annoyance. _Stop being ridiculous about it! There's nothing to be afraid of, not if Hawke says it's alright. And Leandra is hardly going to bite me, is she?_ _At least, I hope not... _

_Creators, there's an image..._

Hawke tilts her head a little, smiling as she looks into my eyes, seeing my anxiety in them as though all my thoughts and fears are written on my soul for her to read at will. "Oh, Merrill. There's nothing to worry about. It will be fine. Mother already thinks you're just wonderful."

I blink up at her, sitting up and turning so I can look at her properly this time. "She... she does? Really?"

Hawke loosens her arms about me a little as I sit up, but doesn't let go. "Really," she says firmly, nodding. "And she already knows I'm in love with you." A wide smile spreads across my face at hearing her say those words. "She even figured it out on her own without me telling her, and she was delighted," Hawke continues with an answering grin of her own. "She told me to invite you to dine with us; practically ordered me, in fact. She'll be absolutely thrilled to bits that you're here. I can promise you that."

Well... that is very good to know. Hawke's mother has never been anything but nice to me, but... I was still worried she might have thought I was a bit of an idiot, after all those times I said something stupid in her hearing, or fell over my own feet in front of her, or something just as foolish and embarrassing. Like that time I accidentally managed to lock myself in the airing cupboard, somehow. Although, she did seem more amused than cross about it, when she found me. She even said she was quite impressed, actually, since the airing cupboard doesn't actually _have_ a lock on it... I still haven't worked out how I managed that one. I am very glad she likes me, despite all of that. It's still going to be... very awkward, though. I mean, with me living here, and all, and... and Hawke and me... being with each other... that is, no one was around to see us last night, and Hawke's... no, _our_ room is quite far away from anyone else's, and the walls are quite thick, so... I don't think anyone heard us, Creators, I hope not, but still... to know that Hawke's mother will know that we're going to be... making love... Mythal, it's embarrassing to even think about it! But then, Leandra is a grown woman, and of course she already knows about... that sort of thing, she's had three children, after all, hasn't she? She isn't going to let it bother her, certainly, she's too sensible, worldly, unlike me. I will... I will just have to get over it, and try not to be so silly and bashful.

And anyway... I certainly don't intend to let anything stop us from doing it again. Making love, I mean. Frequently. And soon.

Oh, yes, I_ really_ wish we could do that again, _very_ soon...

I nod, keeping my eyes on Hawke's beautiful blue ones. "Alright, then." I lift a finger and tap her gently on the nose, making her blink. "But I will hold you to that promise, ma vhenan," I tell her, trying to keep my expression as serious as I can manage. "And if you're wrong, it will be you who has to sort it out with your mother."

"As you wish," Hawke smiles, resting her hand against the back of my neck and leaning forward to give me another slow kiss, deeper this time, and I close my eyes, tilting my head a little as her lips ravenously capture mine, the tip of her tongue gliding over my parted lips and then venturing deeper...

_... Mythal'enaste..._

"So...then... um..." I manage to say once we come up for air at last, and I convince my heart to slow back down to a normal sort of rhythm, or almost, anyway. "I suppose, maybe... we should... we should probably get dressed and go downstairs soon, then? Before anyone starts wondering where you are?" I could kick myself for trying to be sensible right now, but well... we should, really... best not to get carried away, and anyway, it's starting to sound like Bodahn will be finished soon, with whatever he's doing. At least, there's a lot less clashing and clanging coming from the kitchens, now.

Hawke sighs regretfully. "Mm. I suppose so." She sounds very reluctant, though. So am I, but we can't stay in here forever, anyway, not without someone coming to find us, like Hawke said, and... I really don't want that. I start to get up, to leave the water, but Hawke tightens her arms about me suddenly, stopping me from rising, and I glance at her in confusion. She just gives me a wicked sort of smile before taking my shoulders in her hands and turning me gently back around, then she slips her arms about my waist, drawing me firmly against her again.

"And just where do you think you're going?" she whispers in my ear, and I shiver pleasantly, leaning into her.

"Aren't we... aren't we going down... to breakfast?" I ask, my voice faltering a little as she lowers her head and kisses my throat gently, in that _place_, that wondrous place... _Oh, Creators..._ "Won't... _ah_... won't someone come... come looking for you, soon?"

"Soon, yes... but not right this minute. We have a little time. Besides," she murmurs huskily in my ear, pulling me even more closely to her, and my breath hitches as her hands glide silkily down my body beneath the water. "I'm still not finished with you, yet..."

Well, then... it seems... it seems that I... I may get my wish much sooner than I...

_Oh... Mythal'enaste!_

* * *

><p>xxx H xxx<p>

* * *

><p>"Would you like some eggs, messere Hawke?" Bodahn says happily as he reappears suddenly from the kitchen, presenting the plate for my inspection with a small flourish.<p>

"Thank you, Bodahn," I say somewhat resignedly, accepting the offering of yet another well-laden food dish and placing it on the table. With all the others. As fond of him as I am, his over-exuberance and near-slavish desire to please does wear on me a bit from time to time. Like right now, for instance; especially considering that the table is currently loaded with enough food to feed all of Kirkwall for a month, at the very least. Well, I suppose I should have expected this, really. He was already in high spirits from managing to start breakfast before I got the chance, and when he saw I had a guest this morning, he became nothing short of ecstatic to have someone else to fuss over. I would be surprised if he didn't cook everything in the kitchen in his excitement. I'm not about to take him to task for it, since he's so excited, and all. I may still be uncomfortable with having servants, but it seems to make him happy, at least.

Bodahn bows, smiling widely. "No trouble, messere, no trouble at all. Only just cooked them up, I did, so they're nice and hot!" He turns to Merrill. "Is there anything else I can get for you, Miss Merrill? Anything at all, just say the word!"

"Oh, thank you, Bodahn, but I'm quite alright, really," Merrill says, smiling sweetly at him. She gestures at the over-burdened plateful of sliced bread, ham and fruit he placed before her already, probably more than she could manage in a week. "You've given me plenty of food already, don't worry."

He gives her another wide smile and bobs his head. "Very well, miss. And may I say what a pleasure it is to see you here this morning. Messere Hawke has never had company this early, before!" He frowns. "It is very odd that I didn't hear you at the door, though."

Merrill blushes fiercely, glancing up at me, and I smile, winking at her as Bodahn continues obliviously; "I offer my most sincere apologies, Miss Merrill. I do hope you were not left waiting too long. I was quite busy making breakfast for Messere Hawke and Mistress Amell, you see, and-"

"There's really no need to apologise, Bodahn," I cut him off kindly. He'll go on forever like this if I let him. I glance at Merrill, offering her another surreptitious smile as her blush deepens, her mouth curving sweetly in answer. "I took good care of her myself."

"Ah, of course you did, messere," Bodahn says merrily. "So kind and thoughtful, you are! It's such an honour to serve you. May I just say again that Sandal and I are very grateful for everything you've done for us." A sudden smashing noise that sounds suspiciously like rather a lot of china plates all breaking at once rings loudly throughout the house, and Bodahn's head swivels tellingly in the direction of the kitchen. "Uh, s-speaking of my boy, I think I'd best be getting back to him," he stammers nervously, then glances at Merrill apologetically. "Don't like to leave him by himself in the kitchens too long you see, Miss Merrill, or he'll get himself into a right mess in short order. Likes to try and help, he does!" he chuckles, his voice full of affection, though he still looks rather anxious. He nods at the doorway into the hall as he heads towards the door opposite leading back into the kitchen. "Mistress Amell should be along any moment, I believe."

"Thank you, Bodahn," I say, smiling at him, and he bows again, withdrawing hurriedly to the kitchen as another deafening smashing sound comes from within, followed by a mournful cry of '_Not_ enchantment...' I think that was the garishly ostentatious Orlesian crystal goblets that the de Launcets graciously pawned off on us at their last Feastday celebration. That last smashing sound did sound rather more fancy, I think. I'll have to tell Sandal not to be too upset for breaking that lot, he's done me quite a favour.

Merrill glances anxiously towards the hallway entrance, shrinking in her seat a little and twisting her fingers nervously together in her lap beneath the table. I reach out and place my hand over hers, halting her anxious fidgeting. "It's _alright_. Stop worrying," I tell her, trying to be reassuring, though I'm not entirely certain how exactly this conversation with Mother is going to go. I've never been in this situation before, after all; this is as new to me as it is to Merrill. There's no doubt in my mind that Mother will be happy about Merrill coming to live here, though; I just wish I knew how to convince Merrill of that. I smile at her lovingly. "She already knows how I feel about you, remember? And it isn't like you haven't met before. She already likes you; no problems there. Nothing to fret about."

"I-I know," Merrill says, but then promptly betrays herself by worrying anxiously at her lower lip. "It's just... Won't she think it's... strange, about my being here so early, I mean? Won't it just make things sort of... uncomfortable? You know, for her to know that... that we...last night..."

Ah, so _that's_ what's bothering her so much. Well, I can't say I'm particularly comfortable myself, knowing my mother will be soon aware of our... new level of intimacy. Who would be? But I don't think we have to worry too much about it this morning. Who's to say it needs to come up at all? No one was awake last night to hear either of us come in, or... anything else, after all, and while inevitably we will end up being subject to endless jokes at our expense - mostly from a certain nosy pirate and a dwarf with a storyteller's ear for salacious gossip, no doubt - there's no reason to assume there will be_ too_ much awkwardness about it just yet. I'm certain Mother will be the soul of graceful discretion about the whole thing.

Hopefully that isn't merely wishful thinking.

I squeeze Merrill's hand soothingly. "We're just having breakfast, that's all. She already knows we're together, so we shouldn't have to worry on that account," I say, as much to reassure myself as her. "As for last night, well, there's no reason for that to come up. Mother will likely draw the same conclusion that Bodahn did; that you arrived for breakfast, and I let you in myself. I don't foresee our impending meal together being_ too_ unbearably awkward." I smile wryly. "Unless I happen to blurt out any spicy details about last night by mistake, of course."

Merrill's eyes snap to mine worriedly. "That's not really something you'd do, is it? Telling your mother about... about..."

"Oh, sweet Maker, never!" I exclaim, horror filling me at the mere thought. "Could you see yourself casually chatting to the Keeper about the finer points of lovemaking?"

She blushes fiercely, shaking her head forcefully. "_Mythal,_ no! I think I'd rather turn myself in to the Templars than to...to..." She breaks off with a shudder. "Uhh, no! Definitely not! Ever!"

I chuckle. "Well, that's about how I feel about it. So as long as neither of us brings it up at all, I don't see that it will be a problem. My biggest concern is how to tell her that you're coming to live here. Not that she won't be thrilled about that too, but I just don't really know how to broach a topic like that."

Merrill's eyes widen. "Oh, but... wouldn't... wouldn't it be better for you to talk to her about that alone?"

"It will be _fine_, Merrill," I repeat firmly, and give her another gentle smile. "She will be pleased, I promise. Ecstatic, in fact; I bet you anything. You know I wouldn't say it if I didn't believe it. Trust me."

She breathes out, trying unsuccessfully to return my smile. I can feel her hands shaking beneath mine. Maker, she really is nervous. "Alright, then. I do trust you, I just..." she begins, but then her eyes go wide and she cuts herself off abruptly as Mother suddenly sweeps gracefully into the room.

_Well, here we go, then..._

"Morning, Mother," I say brightly to catch her attention and keep it on me, trying to give Merrill a moment to calm herself. "It's a serve-yourself breakfast today. Bodahn had to run back to the kitchens to mind Sandal." I assume a mock sorrowful expression. "I fear the Orlesian wineglasses have met an untimely and rather dramatically violent end."

Mother smiles fondly at me."Which suits you just fine, I'm sure. Never mind," she says as she comes towards the table. "Good morning, darling. Goodness, he certainly made enough food, didn't he? What could have gotten into him?" She puts up her hand to cover a delicate yawn as she approaches, then pauses abruptly, suddenly noticing the tiny, trembly little bundle of nerves in the chair right beside me; the little bundle whose slender fingers begin quivering even harder in my grasp as Mother's piercing blue gaze lights upon her. Mother's eyes widen slightly in recognition and she blinks in obvious surprise. She recovers quickly enough, however, and gives Merrill a warm smile. "Ah. I think I see what has him so excited. Good morning, Merrill, my dear. What a delightful surprise! How lovely to see you. You are well, I hope?"

"Oh yes, thank you, I am, Mistress Hawke- I-I mean, Mistress Amell? I'm not sure which you like better, sorry..." Merrill stammers timidly.

Mother gives a gentle laugh, holding out a reassuring hand to Merrill as she settles herself daintily in the dining chair opposite her. "It's alright, sweetheart. Either is fine, but please; you can just call me Leandra."

"I... al-alright," Merrill says, a small, grateful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Her hands stop trembling beneath mine. "Thank you... Leandra."

Mother smiles back at her, and then turns to me. "You didn't tell me that Merrill would be joining us this morning, darling!" she says, a faintly accusatory but very obviously pleased note in her voice.

"Uh... well, I would have, of course, only it wasn't exactly planned," I say carefully. "Not until last night."

Mother gives a long-suffering sigh. "My dear, have I taught you nothing? It's considered quite discourteous to extend an invitation to dine without giving both your household _and_ the recipient at least a few days notice."

"It was... sort of a spur-of-the-moment thing."

"Well, I suppose I can forgive you," Mother smiles. "Though you could have mentioned it to me... oh, but then, I didn't see you at all before I retired for the evening. You must have gotten home awfully late. I do wish you would be more careful of the time, dear. You do make me worry!"

"My most sincere apologies, Mother," I tell her, resisting a sudden compelling urge to roll my eyes in fond exasperation at her mothering. "I'll try my very hardest never to let it happen again."

"Oh, that was very convincing," Mother laughs. "You almost made me believe you." Her gaze wanders between me and Merrill. "I thought perhaps you might have found a bed elsewhere for the night again..." she says with a small smirk, her meaning clear.

I force myself not to blush at the playfully suggestive note in her tone. "No, I came home to sleep," I tell her carefully. Well, it's the truth.

"Alright then, darling. I believe you." Mother smiles at Merrill, who has been quietly watching our exchange with big, round eyes. "It really is a pleasure to see you, Merrill, dear," she says, reaching for the water pitcher in the centre of the table and pouring out a goblet. "I understand you and my daughter have become quite close?"

I lift a brow at her in surprise. Right, straight to the point, then; no delicate dancing around the subject first? How very refreshing!

Merrill glances at me, and I smile at her encouragingly. "Yes," Merrill says quietly, smiling back as she looks up at me. "Um... more than close, actually." She looks back to Mother, meeting her gaze steadily. "I love her," she says simply, her lilting musical voice soft, but clear and unwavering. My heart begins to perform some very impressive acrobatic leaps within me at the sweet, honest conviction of her words.

A delighted smile appears on Mother's lips as she looks warmly at Merrill. "I'm glad to hear it," she says affectionately. "And I know she feels she same way about you. Do try to keep her out of too much trouble, won't you?"

"Oh, well, I'll certainly try," Merrill says, her smile now at odds with the small worried frown creasing her brow slightly. "But I don't know that I'll manage very well. Trouble seems to like Hawke almost as much as I do, since it follows her everywhere, and I will have to sleep sometimes." Mother laughs, and Merrill's face lights up joyfully at the sound.

I press her hand again, and she glances at me, relief shining clearly in her gold-flecked emerald eyes. "See?" I whisper, smiling, my voice alive with warmth and love. "Told you."

Perfectly innocuous words, or so I would have thought; but perhaps there was some other sort of telling current of emotion in my voice, or some subtle shift in the air that only those with noble upbringing are trained to detect, because Mother immediately turns her head towards me at my words and begins scrutinising me closely, her eyes sharp and focused as though puzzling out a particularly intriguing riddle. She turns her gaze on Merrill next, glancing down to where our hands are clasped tightly together in her lap, and gasps quietly as though in sudden understanding. Her lips quirk in amusement, and I feel a surge of apprehension. Does she... no. She couldn't have figured _that_ out already, just by looking at us?

_Surely not..._

Mother meets my eyes deliberately, pausing for the briefest moment as a small, knowing smile dances over her lips, and then slowly raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow; a simple, seemingly innocuous movement, but to me it speaks volumes, and I find myself suddenly swamped by a wave of deep embarrassment.

Sweet Maker, she knows! She... she actually figured it out, just by _looking_ at us? How did she... how does she know that we...

Oh, bloody Void...

I press my lips together in chagrin at my own foolish thoughts. I should have expected this, after all, shouldn't I? She's so damn perceptive, she figured out how I felt about Merrill with nothing more than a couple of foolish smiles and a few careless words from me. Of course she would notice this too. If anything, I ought to be surprised she didn't realise what happened between us the instant she walked in and saw us together. And it's a ridiculous thing to be embarrassed about, anyway, isn't it? She is fully aware I'm no longer a child, after all, and I'm sure she must know I've hardly remained... let's say, innocent... she must know... but still... she's my mother, and she knows, and I know that she knows, and now she knows that I know that she knows, and it's just... so... bloody... _awkward!_ And that smug look on her face...

_Oh, Maker, strike me now. Come on, don't be shy._

Mother's satisfied smirk deepens momentarily as she watches me squirm in discomfort beneath her amused gaze, and then she looks back over to Merrill and a gentle, completely genuine smile lights up her whole countenance. She plucks a scone from a basket on the table, still smiling encouragingly at her. "I must say again; it really is wonderful to see you this morning, Merrill. I hardly expected you to be here this early," she says, cutting her scone in two before reaching gracefully for the butter dish. She spreads a little on one half, and then pauses with deliberate, impeccable timing, throwing another amused glance in my direction. "Or perhaps this _late_," she adds in a low voice clearly meant for my ears alone, looking at me with a knowing twinkle in her eye and one brow arched ever-so-slightly.

I feel a blush spread hotly over my cheeks, and I rub my neck in that Maker-damned nervous habit before I can stop myself, still rendered speechless. Mother drops me a mischievous wink at my incredibly obvious tell, and suddenly I am strongly and very uncomfortably reminded of Isabela. Maker, could this possibly get any _more_ uncomfortable?

Merrill glances up at the pale blue sky through the window. "Well, the sun isn't very high, yet. So it can't be very late, can it?" she says nervously, sounding a little confused, apparently having heard Mother's quiet aside but missing her meaning entirely.

Mother glances at her, looking slightly taken aback, having failed to take Merrill's sensitive hearing into consideration. "You're quite right," she says after a moment, smiling. "Silly me."

Merrill bites her lip. "I hope you're not bothered that I'm here so early," she says, gazing at Mother with wide, worried eyes. "You're not, are you?"

"Of course not, Merrill, dear," Mother says, her tone soothing. "I'm very happy to see you." She gives me a surreptitious smile. "And I'm quite certain my daughter enjoyed having you here."

The pause between 'enjoyed' and 'having' is so slight I'm hardly even certain it was there, much less intentional. Maker, I hope not. I really, _really_ hope that wasn't an attempt at dirty humour. I think I can say with confidence that I am now more uncomfortable than I have ever been in my life. And that includes the time that Carver put rashvine nettle leaves under my bedclothes.

_Really, Maker? Is this because I called you a nug-licker? You miserable old bastard, I thought you had a sense of humour. Or is this your divine idea of a joke?_

"I did," I manage after a moment, giving Merrill's hand a squeeze. Merrill gives a bashful smile, glancing up at me shyly.

"There you are then, sweetheart," Mother says with a small but rather fiendish grin. "I daresay she would enjoy having you more often."

_Oh, for... Maker's sagging balls! You're not a merciful god, are you?_

"I'd like that very much," Merrill says ingenuously, and Mother gives a delighted laugh. Merrill gives her a small smile, not knowing whether or not she should laugh too, and she glances at me uncertainly, clearly unsure of what exactly Mother finds so amusing. I think I'd best put an end to this now, before she starts making any more attempts at crude humour. Perhaps I shouldn't invite Isabela over to dine with us quite so often anymore, or at least stop leaving Mother alone with her. Clearly, the Queen of the Eastern Seas is a terrible influence on otherwise proper and polite noblewomen. Noblewomen who generally do _not_ make dirty jokes based on an inappropriate interpretation of the word 'having'_._

I take Merrill's hand again, and she looks up at me curiously, as though hoping for an explanation of what must have been an extremely baffling conversation for her thus far. My eyes flick meaningfully at Mother before I look back at Merrill. "She knows," I tell her softly.

Merrill's eyes suddenly open wider than I thought was possible. "Oh...you mean..." she whispers, "... you mean she knows that... that we..."

I nod, and she blushes a deep, burning crimson that reaches right to the tips of her pointed ears. "Oh..."

I shoot Mother another dark look across the table. "Very amusing, Mother, but Merrill isn't used to playing such games. Perhaps we could engage in a bit of plain-spoken conversation for a moment? I'm certain I would feel more comfortable." I give her my best reproving glare. "Not to mention it would be far more courteous to our guest."

"You're perfectly right," Mother says, having the grace to look chastened for a moment. She turns to Merrill. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," she says, her tone plainly remorseful. "Please forgive me. I haven't yet had the opportunity to tease my daughter in such a situation; I'm afraid I simply couldn't resist! I did not mean to make _you_ feel uncomfortable, however. I do apologise."

"Oh, no, it's alright, I don't mind," Merrill reassures her, smiling. "Although I'm not really sure what you're sorry for; I wasn't uncomfortable. And when were you teasing Hawke? Was it very clever? I'm so sorry, I think I missed it, I was a bit... distracted... well, anxious, really, so I wasn't really concentrating. Sorry," she says, growing remorseful for a moment before abruptly brightening again in the next."But I can certainly see where your daughter gets it from, though, saying such quick and clever things all the time, I mean. She always does that."

Mother laughs in delight. "And I can certainly see why she adores you so." She smiles at me. "I hope you plan to ask this darling girl to grace our table with her presence again, and soon."

Alright. Alright, well, that didn't end too badly, then. I suppose I can forgive her for having a little harmless fun. Besides, she's just given me an opening I really shouldn't ignore, not even to take her to task for her teasing. Better not waste it.

"I think I can arrange that," I grin back. "In fact, I was thinking that we could have the pleasure of her company at dinner this evening as well." I pause briefly. "And supper. And breakfast tomorrow, too." I hold her gaze, raising an eyebrow meaningfully. "And every meal, every day, from now on."

Mother sits perfectly still for a moment, blinking as she takes in the meaning of my words, and then she smiles widely, laughing as she rises and rushes around the table to us, completely abandoning all elegance and decorum. She happily kisses a visibly bewildered Merrill on the cheek before leaning down to envelop us both in a warm hug, made slightly awkward by the fact that we are both still seated and more or less trapped in our high-backed dining chairs.

"Oh, my darling, I'm so happy for you! For _both_ of you," she says, smiling fondly first at me and then at Merrill. "This is just wonderful!"

"You really think so?" Merrill asks tentatively, looking worriedly at Mother, who merely smiles at her.

"Of course I do, my little sweetheart," she answers fondly. "You are an absolute pleasure to be around. And I've seen the way my daughter smiles when she speaks of you, and the way she looks at you now. I haven't seen her so happy in a very long time. Just look at her; so full of joy and light, and unfeigned laughter. All because of you." She cups Merrill's chin gently in her hand. "My sweet, dear girl; thank you. Welcome to our little family."

Merrill's eyes shine a little wetly, and she smiles up at Mother, suddenly unable to speak. Mother smiles back at her, reaching out to smooth a gentle hand over Merrill's hair before placing an affectionate kiss on her forehead, and then she abruptly rises and is back around the table and in her chair again almost before either of us even has time to blink. Alright, then. Emotional display done with, respectable etiquette and _proper_ noble behaviour resumed once more.

Well, as long as there are no more uncomfortably suggestive jokes forthcoming, that is just fine by me.

"So, if I may ask; what are your plans for today, you two?" she asks, reaching for a small pot of blackberry preserves.

I shrug a little, absently spearing an apple quarter with a fork and taking a bite. "Not much. We're heading to Lowtown after this to start getting a few of Merrill's things together, so we can bring them back here."

"Don't speak with your mouth full, dear, it's most unbecoming." Mother says automatically, then smiles at us. "That sounds like an excellent plan. Don't waste any more time, then, hurry up and finish your breakfast, girls. The sooner you get started moving Merrill in, the better."

She spreads a little of the sweet berry jam on a piece of scone, and then looks up at me as though suddenly reminded of something. "You know, I was thinking of taking a short trip," she says.

I blink in confusion for a moment, unable to comprehend the reason for her sudden unexpected announcement. It seems somewhat unrelated to our previous topic. "Oh?" I say eventually. "Feeling adventurous, are you?"

She laughs. "Perhaps a little. I'd wager that's _your _influence, darling," she says, still smiling. "Actually, a letter arrived the other day from an old acquaintance of mine, asking me to stay with her for a few weeks."

"An old acquaintance?" I ask curiously, cutting a bite of ham. "Who?"

"Gisele de Soliere," Mother answers, taking Merrill's goblet and pouring water for her, smiling gently at her stammered thanks. "No one you know. She grew up here in Kirkwall, and we were very good friends as girls before she married a minor noble and moved to his family estate in Ostwick. Apparently it's quite lovely there this time of year." She takes a sip of water. "Gisele even offered to send a carriage for me, and to arrange accommodations at reputable inns along the way. I thought I might take her up on it."

I feel my brows lift in surprise. It seems a bit odd for her to mention this all of a sudden, not to mention she hasn't travelled outside of Kirkwall in years. "You want to go to Ostwick? Now?"

"And why not?" Mother enquires, lifting one shoulder in an elegant shrug. "The last thing you need right now is your mother watching over your shoulder every time you come home. Personally, I think the timing couldn't be better. It will give you two a little time alone together." She smiles between Merrill and me, and then lifts an eyebrow, her smile becoming slightly cunning. "Perhaps I could even develop a sudden desperate need for Bodahn and Sandal's service on the road," she says thoughtfully. "Think of it. You'll have the entire house to yourselves."

That is... incredibly appealing, to be honest. And doesn't she just know it. What a wonderful gesture. I watch her quietly for a moment, feeling grateful and blessed. "Thank you, Mother."

She raises her eyebrows at me, still smiling. "What for, darling?" she enquires.

"For being so supportive of all this. Of everything..."

"Of course, love. Why wouldn't I be? The more you and Merrill are together, the more I get to see you like this; so utterly happy. You should see yourself, it's just wonderful." Mother smiles kindly at Merrill, and then leans toward me. "I think she's very good for you, don't you agree?" she says in a loud stage whisper. "And quite beautiful, too. Such lovely eyes." Out of the corner of my eye, I see Merrill blush deeply at her words.

"Well, of course I agree," I say quietly. "Just... thank you."

She smiles gently. "Eat up, then, come now," she says, motioning to my plate, and turning to do the same to Merrill. "You especially, sweetheart, before you waste away to nothing. Look at you, skin and bone. When was the last time you had a decent meal? You will need your strength to carry your things up all those dreadful stairs, you know. Perhaps you two should enlist some help? I'd wager Bodahn would be happy to assist you."

Well, that's certainly a safe bet.

"Oh, no, we'll be fine! We can manage, I'm sure," Merrill assures her brightly. "And I haven't got that much to bring, anyway, not really, just clothes. And not many of those, either."

A sudden glint of excitement appears in Mother's eye at Merrill's words. "No?"she asks, her voice deceptively casual. _Oh, no._ "Well, then I shall just have to take you shopping, then, shan't I?" Mother declares, and I groan inwardly. _Oh, here we go..._ "I'm sure we can find you some lovely things in the Hightown market." She pauses momentarily, the corners of her mouth turning downwards slightly in a delicate frown. "Although I'm not certain whether they will have very much clothing made to fit elves there, apart from servants' uniforms and such, and that certainly won't do. But perhaps we can visit Jean Luc," she says, brightening again. "He is an excellent tailor."

"Oh, yes, I've heard of him," Merrill nods. "Hawke said he made her those nice clothes, the fancy ones she wore the other day to see the Viscount."

"Yes, the ones that mysteriously disappeared later that same day, as I recall," Mother says dryly, glancing at me. I merely shrug unapologetically in response.

"I liked those clothes, very much," Merrill says dreamily, a shy smile on her face. "I thought she looked very grand in them, and beautiful." She looks at me then, biting her lip a little. "And very... heroic, too."

She... thought I looked heroic? Really? Well... now it's _my_ turn to blush.

Mother quirks an eyebrow, smiling. "Well, when you and I go to see Jean Luc, we can commission him to make her some more, and you can encourage her to wear them more often," she says with a sly gleam in her eye. "I'm sure she would, if you asked her to."

Damn it. I would, too. All she would have to do is look at me pleadingly with those huge eyes and I'd be helpless to resist; a fact which has apparently not escaped Mother. I'm certain her mind is already racing with all the ways she can use it to her advantage, all the things she can try to convince Merrill to get me to do now, like grow my hair out, host tea parties, wear dresses...

_Ugh, Maker._

"Come on," Mother encourages suddenly in a gentle but uncompromising tone, gesturing gracefully at the food in front of us. "I don't want to see a scrap of food left in front of either of you."

I shake my head a little, smiling wryly. Oh, yes, she's well into her element now. Two unruly children to mother and fuss over instead of just one; she must be in absolute heaven.

"But I'll never manage to eat all this," Merrill says in a small, worried voice, her expression almost fretful as she looks up at me.

Mother overhears her. "Just eat what you can, dear," she laughs. "I didn't mean it quite that literally. As long as I'm sure you've had a decent breakfast, I'll be happy. It's the most important meal of the day, you know. But don't worry; Bodahn may have gotten a little overexcited today, but generally our usual table spread is rather more modest than this."

"Alright, then," Merrill smiles, relieved, glancing down at her overladen plate. "I hardly know where to start!" She looks across the table, her gaze settling on the little jar of reddish purple preserves beside Mother's plate, and draws in a short, sharp breath, her eyes widening. "Is that... blackberry?" she all but whispers.

Mother follows her gaze and nods. "Yes, blackberry preserve. I found a supplier in the market. He imports it from Ferelden, since the fruit doesn't grow in these parts, at least not well." She holds the pot out to Merrill. "Would you like some?"

"Ohh..." Merrill sighs happily, reaching eagerly for the jar. "Yes, thank you! I haven't had blackberries in ages, not since we left Ferelden. They were always my favourite; they're so sweet!"

_Just like you._ "Try some with a scone," I suggest, savouring her joyful delight. I had no idea she loved blackberries so much. I must make a note of that.

"Scone," Merrill repeats carefully, still gleefully clutching the jar of preserves in both hands. She looks at the one on Mother's plate, and then at the little basket on the table."That's... one of those little doughy bread things, right? I think Varric brought me some of those, once, though he didn't tell me what they were called. I suppose he assumed I would know already."

I smile. "So, the Dalish make muffins and cakes, but not scones?"

Merrill shakes her head a little. "No, not really," she says, then pauses thoughtfully. "Although we do have something that's a bit like it, I suppose. Little round balls of a sort of very light journey-bread that you bake over hot coals," she replies, taking a scone from the basket and breaking in two with her hands. She spreads some of the preserves on a piece and immediately bites into it, closing her eyes as the sweet jam touches her tongue, chewing quickly and swallowing as she nods. "Mmm. Yes, I think this is much the same thing, though these a bit sweeter. And more... crumbly. Mahariel used to make things like this all the time, but these are a little nicer than hers, I think. Although I'd never tell her I said so." She takes another bite and gives a quiet sound of blissful satisfaction. Not unlike some of the sounds she made last night, in fact...

"Who is Mahariel?" Mother asks curiously. "The name sounds familiar, somehow, but I can't place it."

I suppress a smile, sensing an opportunity for a little gentle teasing of my own. "Oh, she's one of Merrill's former clan mates," I answer casually before Merrill can finish her mouthful. "She and Merrill grew up together, back in Ferelden." I raise my cup and take a sip of water. "Before she became a Grey Warden, that is," I add offhandedly.

"A Grey Warden?" Mother repeats in surprise. "Really? I wasn't aware there were any Dalish Wardens."

I grin, watching as Mother takes a bite of her own scone. I want to get the timing just right.

"Well, there's at least one," I tell her, watching as she chews delicately. "Though her background isn't made as much of as it should be. She's quite famous, though. You will have heard of her."

Mother looks at me questioningly, her mouth still to full to speak. Perfect.

"But most people just know her by her title," I continue, suppressing a grin of anticipation. "The Hero of Ferelden."

I like to have my fun, too.

I bite back a smile of satisfaction as Mother's face assumes an utterly priceless expression of shocked astonishment and her jaw drops in a very unseemly manner, completing the effect brilliantly as she briefly reveals a very unladylike mouthful of half chewed scone. "The Hero of-?" she starts to say around her mouthful.

"Oh, Mother, don't speak with your mouth full!" I tease delightedly. "Most unbecoming indeed!"

Her hand flies to her mouth in the next instant as a deep blush stains her cheeks, and she shoots me a _look_; half mortified annoyance, half wry amusement. If I were still in pinafores, I could expect to spend the rest of the morning sitting in a corner for that. I have no doubt she'll find some other more... subtle revenge, but I don't care. Whatever she comes up with, it was worth it.

Once sufficiently recovered from her minor embarrassment, Mother immediately begins peppering Merrill with excited questions, only a few of which Merrill actually has an answer for. How long has she known the Hero? What was she like as a child? Is she as brave and beautiful as all the stories say? Does she really sleep in a bed made from the bones of the Archdemon itself? And is it true that she had a passionate but short-lived love affair with the red-haired, foul-mouthed dwarven warrior who accompanied her during the blight? I very nearly choke on a piece of bread trying to stifle my laughter when she voices that last question. I think I may have to remind her not to believe _everything_ in Varric's stories the next time he is invited to dinner. Or perhaps have him explain to her his tendency to sacrifice historical truth and accuracy in favour of dramatic - or comedic - effect.

Merrill tries to answer her as best she can with what little she knows of her lost clan mate, though she seems quite torn over how she could best please Mother; by replying to each and every one of her ceaseless barrage of questions, or by following her earlier orders to eat a proper breakfast, or both at once? I just watch them and listen, eating quietly and reflecting happily on how well our little discussion went this morning, at least once Mother managed to rein herself in. Naturally, it could have been better, but... it also could have gone far worse. Her gentle teasing was largely restricted to myself, for which I am grateful, and the way she treated Merrill, so affectionate and caring... I've never been so aware of just how lucky I am to have a mother like her; understanding, kind, accepting, loving. Our relationship may not have always been without its conflicts, but ultimately, given the choice... I don't think I would change a single thing about her.

As if obeying some sort of silent ironic cue, Mother's voice abruptly disrupts my pleasant reverie. She's moved on to another topic now...

"...while you two are in Lowtown today, I think I will pay a visit to Jean Luc after all, and see if I can't book a fitting and have him design a fine new wardrobe for you, sweetheart," Mother is saying to a very bewildered Merrill, who simply nods dazedly at her words, looking very overwhelmed by Mother's exuberance. She'll get used to it eventually, just as I did. I sigh heavily under my breath as Mother's eyes flash in excitement. "Plenty of greens and earth-tones, of course. You do seem to like them so, and they suit you very well, of course, but perhaps... something new, for variety? You would look utterly resplendent in white, my dear. Ah! And I can order some more _good_ clothes for my daughter as well, while I'm there. Something new, something different. Royal blue silk to bring out her eyes, I think, with silver embroidery. Perhaps even a couple of dresses, in blue and purple silks. Oh, and floral patterns! Ah, yes. Marvellous..."

_Ugh, no. Maker's breath._

Alright, well, maybe I might change a _few_ things. Just a few.

* * *

><p>The streets are already bustling with an almost frantic level of activity when we finally make it down the long run of stairs to Lowtown, the twisting lanes and alleyways becoming all the more crowded the closer we get to the busy market square. Merrill glances at a clothing display in a Lowtown tailor's stall as we make our way along the lane, biting her lip a little as her delicate eyebrows draw together worriedly. I smile, watching her, and wait for her to voice whatever anxious thought the innocuous sight of the tailor's humble wares put into her mind.<p>

"Do you think Leandra will really have the tailor make me white clothes?" Merrill asks worriedly as we pass by his stall and walk down the short flight of steps into the marketplace. "It's just... I mean, white is very nice, and all, and I am very grateful, of course I am, but... we get into so much trouble all the time, you know, always getting covered in dirt, and muck, and blood, and how would I ever keep them clean?"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," I tell her, slipping my arm about her slender waist as we wander through the teeming square in the vague direction of the alienage. She leans into me as we walk, and I glance down at her beautiful profile, enjoying her sweet warmth against my side. "She'll just go right out and buy you some more, never fear. In fact, she'd probably be well pleased; it would simply give her an excuse to order new fabrics, and patterns and styles, and whatnot. Perhaps I should suggest she offer Jean-Luc her services as a clothing designer, I think she'd like that." I pause for a moment and catch her eye as our current topic recalls me to something she said at breakfast. "You really think those extravagant clothes made me look... heroic, do you?"

She lets out a soft, delightful giggle, ducking her head a little as her ears turn a faint adorable pink. "You always look heroic, Hawke, because you are," she says, resting her head against my shoulder as we make our way slowly through the busy throng. "You don't need fancy things for that. But... you did look lovely in them. Even more lovely than usual, I mean."

I tighten my arm about her waist affectionately, feeling my cheeks heat at the earnest sincerity in her voice. "Well, then, perhaps I won't mind wearing clothes like that more often. As long as you have some just as fine to match," I tease gently, watching the path ahead of us out of the corner of my eye as I keep my gaze on her. My sweet, beautiful little elf. "I bet Mother is arranging a fitting for you as we speak."

Merrill wrinkles her nose a little. "I'm not so sure I like the sound of that, now."

"I'll make you something nice to make it up to both of us," I smile at her. "What do you fancy? Muffins? A cake?"

She lifts her head and tilts it to one side thoughtfully, considering. "I really liked those scone things. Can we have more of those?"

"Of course." Easy enough. "Whatever you wish. Mine are even better than Bodahn's, if I do say so myself," I grin, taking the opportunity to press closer against her as we sidestep a stall displaying rows of rings and other little trinkets. "You said Mahariel used to make something like them?"

She nods, and a dwarven vendor with a booming voice suddenly chooses this moment to yell loud and very boastful endorsements of the quality of his weapons at me. I ignore him. What use would a sword be to me, anyway? Or daggers, for that matter? I suppose I must look like a rogue or a warrior to some people. I lean down to hear Merrill better over his obnoxious racket as we pass him by. "She used to call it 'tu'shem'," Merrill says. "Very useful for long journeys, since the dough keeps well if you wrap it in elfroot leaves. The meaning is something like 'made quickly', because of how fast the bread rises, although I think she might have made it up herself. I never heard anyone else call it that."

I prick up my ears at the information, fascinated as always by the elven words. "Shem? Like shemlen?" I ask her eagerly. "I thought that meant 'human'."

Merrill's voice takes on an instructive tone. "Well, it does refer to humans. It was the name that our ancestors gave to humanity, because the lives of humans were so short compared to theirs," she tells me. "But it actually means 'quick children'. Like 'durgen'len', for the dwarves. Stone children, you see."

"Ah," I say, thinking it over for a moment. "So calling someone a 'shemlen' isn't really much of an insult."

"No, not really," Merrill says, and then laughs a little. "Not unless you put 'dirty' or 'smelly' in front of it, of course."

"Well, I think I can safely say that I am neither," I smile. "Certainly not after this morning."

Merrill giggles. "I'm pretty sure the city elves use it as an insult, though, but..." She turns her head to glance at a passing elven labourer, likely heading towards the docks to look for work, and her face suddenly falls a little. "They have lost even more than the Dalish. I don't think they remember what it means anymore."

I frown a little, thinking fast for a way to lighten her mood again. "That, or they just think that being human is enough of an insult in itself," I joke after a moment, and she gives a small laugh and glances back at me again, shaking her head a little.

I smile at her, glad my distraction was successful, and keen to resume our discussion. "So what is 'da'len'? That's what the Keeper always calls you, isn't it?"

Merrill nods. "It means 'little child'," she replies softly. "It's an endearment."

"So 'len' must be children or child, then, and 'shem' is 'quick', 'durgen' is stone... and 'da' is 'little'?" I ask curiously, warming to the subject.

"Yes," she says, looking up at me with a surprised smile."That was clever of you to work all that out, Hawke."

"Yes, well, I'm quite... ah, shem, aren't I?" I joke. _Maker, that was weak. So much for clever._

She giggles despite the poor jest, nodding. "Don't forget silly."

I chuckle in agreement, and give her slender waist another affectionate squeeze. "Can you teach me more?" I ask her hopefully.

Merrill looks at me in surprise. "You want to learn elven?"

I nod enthusiastically. "Yes, please. I'm interested. And who knows? Maybe it will be useful for working on the eluvian." I'd honestly love to learn more, and not just for the sake of the mirror. The elven language is so beautiful, what there is of it, and it's so much a part of who Merrill is. I'd love to be able to share it with her. "If it would be appropriate, that is."

"I... I think that would be wonderful," Merrill says, her eyes lighting up as she smiles at me. "I'd love to teach you what I know, ma vhenan. Just give me a little time to think about where to start."

"I look forward to it, my heart," I tell her, and place a gentle kiss on her rosy cheek, earning myself another soft sweet giggle and a contented sigh into the bargain.

We walk on in comfortable, blissful silence, weaving our way through the crowded stalls and up the stairs in front of the Hanged Man; the halfway point between the Hightown steps and the alienage. Then Merrill abruptly stops in her tracks, raising her head and staring into the distance at a point down the street to the right.

"Oh, look, Hawke, look!" she says, pointing. "Isn't that Isabela, over there? It's very early for her to only just be getting in, isn't it? Where has she been, do you suppose?"

I look in the direction she is gazing, and sure enough, there she is; the Pirate Queen of the Eastern Seas, swaggering nonchalantly up the steps at the very end of the street. I watch her as she draws nearer, taking in the mussed, jet black hair beneath the slightly skewed blue headscarf, the tell-tale wrinkles in her clothing, and her extremely self-satisfied expression. "If I were to make an educated guess, I'd say either the Blooming Rose, or Ander's clinic," I decide, and then smile wryly. "Or perhaps both; one after the other, to save time."

Merrill gives a soft laugh. "Well, that sounds about right."

Isabela's swaying strut suddenly quickens noticeably, and a wide grin spreads over her face as she finally spots us. Her golden eyes twinkle merrily as she comes sauntering over. "Well, well, look who we have here," she drawls, her tone pleased.

"Nice to see you, Isabela," I grin back. "Had a good night, have you?"

She puts a hand on her hip and raises an eyebrow suggestively as she looks us both up and down slowly.

"Looks like you both did, too, unless I'm very much mistaken," she says meaningfully. "I take it you've... made up, then?"

My eyes widen involuntarily. Maker's breath! What, is it written on my face, or something? I feel the blood rush to my cheeks, and sigh inwardly. Well, _now_ it is. Isabela smiles in gleeful satisfaction as she watches me, her suspicions confirmed.

"Made up? After the fight we had, over the eluvian, you mean?" Merrill asks ingenuously. "Oh yes, we have, definitely."

Isabela chuckles fondly. "Well, that's certainly good to hear, kitten, but it isn't _quite_ what I meant. I was in fact referring to you and our fearless leader here getting naked last night," she states, completely matter-of-factly. And in quite a loud voice. "You did, didn't you?"

Merrill stares, and her cheeks abruptly tinge a deep red. I guess we match each other again, now. "How... how did you know?" she asks, her eyes as big as saucers.

"I have a seasoned eye. I can tell just by looking at you," Isabela says, still grinning."You've both got that _glorious_ glow only worn by people who've just spent the whole night having absolutely _amazing_ sex."Merrill's ears are now as crimson as her cheeks, and Isabela winks at her, clearly thoroughly enjoying herself. "And about bloody time, too. I'm glad you two have sorted out your differences at last. I'm especially happy for you, kitten," she smiles at Merrill. Then she flicks her golden gaze to me, and her eyes narrow slightly. "But Hawke..." Isabela says in a low, dangerous tone as she steps in close to me, leaning in so that her lips practically brush my ear. "Hurt her like that again, and I won't be so forgiving next time," she breathes somewhat menacingly, keeping her voice as quiet as possible so as to avoid letting Merrill overhear her whispered warning.

I simply nod, accepting the sisterly threat without comment. She doesn't have to tell me twice; I certainly don't intend to do so ever again. If I did, I daresay I'd be grateful if she made good on her promise.

She steps back, abruptly resuming her cheerful demeanour, pretending not to note Merrill's concerned and slightly suspicious expression as she glances between us.

"What did you say, Isabela? I couldn't quite hear you."

Isabela winks at her. "Nothing to be concerned about, kitten. I was just telling Hawke how happy I am for the two of you, finally... how did you put it... 'being together romantically' with each other."

I notice Merrill rub at her head in apparent embarrassment, and I give Isabela an inquisitive glance. When did she call it that? "This was during one of your little chats, I assume? Just what exactly _do_ you two talk about during all these secret conversations of yours?"

Isabela grins. "Oh, you know, this and that," she shrugs indifferently, in a very unconvincing manner. "Sailing, mostly."

Sailing. Right. "Is that some sort of euphemism?" I smirk, raising an eyebrow.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she says with a grin, which I take as an affirmative. "Anyway, like you said, it's a secret. And I'd be a poor excuse for a thief _and_ a pirate if I couldn't keep certain little treasures to myself now and then, now wouldn't I?" She ruffles Merrill's hair affectionately, and then punches me in the shoulder in what I choose to assume is also a display of affection. "I really am happy for you two, you know. In fact, I think I'll go and have a drink to celebrate."

I give a soft but somewhat indelicate snort, rubbing my stinging arm. "Isn't a celebration supposed to be something special, not something you do every five minutes?"

"I'll make it special. I'll ask Corff for some of the really _expensive_ whisky flavoured with rat droppings." Isabela jerks a thumb at the door of the tavern behind her invitingly. "Want to join me?"

"As tempting as you made it sound just now, and setting aside the fact that it isn't yet mid-morning, I'm afraid we have to decline," I comment dryly, grinning. "Thanks anyway, but we're heading to Merrill's place."

Isabela quirks an amused eyebrow at us. "I see," she drawls. "I don't suppose you want... company?"

"Oh, that's all right, Isabela. We're going to look at the eluvian, I'm sure it wouldn't really be very interesting for you," Merrill says, her tone deceptively oblivious since she seems to be trying to hide an amused smile. "Maybe we could come and give you some company later, though?" She blinks and then hurries to clarify as Isabela grins at her. "Oh, not... not like you mean, of course... but maybe you can give me the lesson you mentioned, when you came to see me after... um, the other day."

After Sundermount, she means. I feel a jolt of deep guilt at the unpleasant reminder, which fortunately soon fades away as I belatedly process the rest of Merrill's words. A lesson in what, exactly? Counting cards in diamondback? Flirting lessons? 'Sailing' lessons? The benefits of pantslessness? Perhaps I wouldn't mind if it were one of those last three so much, as long as they don't entail any practical demonstrations. I raise an eyebrow at Isabela, though my question is for Merrill. "What sort of lesson?"

Isabela gives a warning cough, which unfortunately for her is entirely lost on Merrill, who looks up at me with wide, innocent eyes. "Isabela said the next time I went to the Hanged Man, she would teach me to do something called..." She pauses, furrowing her delicate brows adorably in concentration, clearly determined to get the word right, whatever it is. "Body shots?" she says at last, her tone questioning as she looks to Isabela for confirmation.

I bite my cheek hard to keep from bursting out laughing, in case it makes Merrill think she said it wrong, but I can't keep the grin from my face as I turn my gaze on Isabela. "Oh, did she, now?"

Isabela folds her arms defiantly, though a smirk plays across her full lips. "You take care of her your way; I'll take care of her mine. The offer still stands, if you're interested; I'm all too happy to extend it to you too, Hawke," she says, her voice now sultry and teasing.

I laugh."Thank you, but I am already familiar with the concept. I think we'll pass. If Merrill really wants to learn, then I'll make it my responsibility to show her at home." Isabela opens her mouth to speak and I hastily cut her off. "_Without_ supervision, thank you very much."

"Spoilsport," Isabela says, grinning. "I'll let you get on with it, then." She leans in towards Merrill, her voice dropping to a low whisper. "But before you go, kitten, I'd like an answer to the question I asked you earlier, since you're in a better position to answer it now." Isabela's eyes flick to me and a wicked smirk lights her face. "How was she, kitten? Did she... curl your toes? Explore your Deep Roads? Dampen your Divine?"

My eyes widen as my face grows hot with embarrassment, but Merrill merely tilts her head, unusually unfazed by Isabela's suggestive teasing.

"Yes," she says, gazing up at Isabela unflinchingly, challengingly almost, yet still in a sweetly innocent sort of way as she smiles up at the suddenly nonplussed pirate. "She did. You were right, Isabela. She was _wonderful_." She giggles a little, and her ears go red again but she doesn't drop her gaze. Her next words nearly knock me off my feet. "She made my fingers clench and my eyes roll too, just like you promised she would."

My mouth falls open and I stare at her in a mix of incredulity and amazement, feeling my cheeks burn darker than ever. _Maker's balls... _that's_ what they talk about__?_ Merrill holds Isabela's stunned gaze easily, and I close my mouth as I begin to smile instead, suddenly feeling an odd but very strong sense of pride in Merrill as she stares up at the gaping pirate with wide eyes, and that cheeky little smile. Who would have thought it; our lustily irrepressible pirate captain, completely thrown by Merrill of all people, her innocent little kitten? Wonders will never cease.

Isabela suddenly laughs loudly in delighted surprise, recovering her balance quickly, as usual. "Well... that's good, kitten. Or perhaps I ought to call you 'tiger', now?" she says, lifting a suggestive eyebrow at Merrill, smirking. "Wish I had a slip of parchment on me, this is absolute gold."

"Parchment? What on earth for?" I ask in puzzlement, but she merely laughs in reply.

"For her, um... 'friend fiction', most likely," Merrill says, giving Isabela a slightly irritated glance. "She said she wants to write a story about us... being together... and sell it to Varric for one of his serials."

"What?" I yelp, staring at Isabela incredulously. Maker's blood, but that's just what I need all over town, isn't it? Great. "Tell me you're joking."

"I _never_ joke about friend fiction, Hawke. Oh, don't look so shocked," Isabela says, grinning. "Once word about you two gets out, Varric would likely write one of his own anyway, and what does he know about girly fun? At least if I do it, I can get all the delicious little details exactly right... every last toe-curling, finger-clenching, eye-rolling little detail..."

"Isabela!" Merrill says warningly, frowning at her crossly.

Isabela laughs. "Ooh, look at that fierce little scowl. Sorry, girls, but I am a firm believer in freedom of artistic expression, and all that rot. Besides, I only do it out of love."

I give an exasperated sigh under my breath but decide to let it go, since I doubt she will give up on it. "Whatever you say, Isabela. Just, please at least _try_ to make it somewhat tasteful? For my sake? And no names."

Isabela grins. "You have pretty eyes." I sigh again, louder, shaking my head in weary amusement, and she grins more wickedly than ever first at me, and then at Merrill as she leans in towards her. "You left out the bit about your thighs, though, sweetness," she purrs in a sultry whisper to Merrill, who holds her gaze determinedly, though her blush deepens. "Might as well do the thing properly. Did she make you... _quiver_...?"

Did I make her...? Right, well, I think that's _quite_ enough of that. I raise an eyebrow at Isabela with a warning look. A very _pointed_ warning look.

Isabela notes my stare with a smirk and takes the hint, though she rolls her eyes a little, very clearly mouthing '_spoilsport'_ at me before suddenly cocking her head to one side as though listening to something. "What's that, Varric?" she says loudly. "I'll be right there." She grins at Merrill. "We'll finish this conversation later, kitten. I've got enough to work with for now, I think. Tell you what, I'll let you read the first draft, and you can help me out with all the little details, you know; the kissing, the touching, the sighs and moans, the positions... oh, I think I'd better go get started on it right now. I feel inspired. I have such_ glorious_ images in my head..."

She winks at Merrill again, and then swaggers briskly through the door into the Hanged Man, pausing for a brief moment to throw a roguish look back over her shoulder, before vanishing into the dim, musty tavern.

Merrill watches her go with wide, worried eyes. "She was only joking about writing _that_ about us, wasn't she? I'm sure she wouldn't really be that descriptive, surely," she says a little anxiously, and then suddenly giggles, a pretty blush staining her cheeks. "That was _so _much fun though! Did you see the look on her face when I... I almost can't believe I could say such things. But I did, didn't I?"

I grin at her in amusement. "You certainly did," I remark wryly, and she looks up at me, suddenly anxious again.

"You didn't mind, did you?"

I smile reassuringly. "Of course not. If anything, I'm proud of you. It's not every day someone manages to render Isabela speechless with astonishment."

Merrill bites her lip a little, unable to restrain a bashful smile as she gazes up at me, and I brush my lips lightly against her temple in a sudden rush of affection. Doubtless now that Isabela figured out what we've been up to, everyone else will hear about it too, in short order. Likely well before midday, courtesy of her wagging tongue, and in enough embellished detail to rival Varric's most ridiculously exaggerated story. And anyone she doesn't tell will probably end up reading about it, apparently. Well, I suppose that takes care of that, doesn't it? Everyone will know, now, one way or another. Fine. Good. No need to be shy, then, is there?

I lift Merrill's head with a gentle finger beneath her chin, and she beams happily up at me, wrapping her slender arms about my neck as I rest my hands against her the gentle curves of her hips, pulling her gently against me as she gives a small but thrilled little gasp. I let a slow smile spread across my face as I gaze down into her beautiful emerald eyes, which flutter shut as I lower my head down towards hers, her sweet giggle filling me with breathless delight, her slender fingers tangling through my hair as I press my mouth to her soft, warm lips in a tender but utterly rapturous kiss. She makes a wonderful, mewling sound of pleasure as I let my hands drift down a little further, and I smile into her kiss as it grows deeper, more insistent.

Eventually, though, I have to force myself to draw back before I forget where we are. Merrill makes a small noise of protest as my lips leave hers, and I smile at her as she opens her eyes, looking up at me plaintively.

"Sorry, but we're not exactly alone." I whisper, flicking my eyes pointedly at a pair of openly staring elven labourers loitering outside the tavern, both of them practically drooling and looking as though Feastday has come early. "I'll make it up to you later, I promise. We'd best get going, anyway, before I let myself get too carried away. We don't want to end up making a scene not unlike the one Isabela was involved in a few months back."

"Oh!" Merrill exclaims, and then giggles. "When she got caught doing things with that Chantry initiate, you mean... in the Grand Cleric's bedchamber?"

I grin, remembering Isabela's shameless laughter as she recounted the tale of their discovery by none other than the very shocked and appalled Hand of the Divine herself, when she retired to her chamber for an afternoon nap. Wish I could have seen the look on old Elthina's face for myself. "Right. Only much more public, if somewhat less sacrilegious." My amused grin widens. "And with fewer holy sisters watching through a crack in the wardrobe door."

"No. We've only got the one, over there in the corner," Merrill says brightly, nodding to a young, red-haired woman in the sun-emblazoned robes of a Chantry sister standing in the shadows, watching us with an oddly intense, interested sort of expression. Her eyes widen in surprise as she notices our regard and she turns away immediately, walking quickly down the stairs towards the market with a pointedly straight and dignified posture, though I'm almost certain I see her glance back at us just before she sweeps out of sight around the corner. She seemed... vaguely familiar, somehow, as though I've seen her somewhere before... although I daresay she could have been there on one of the rare occasions I've had reason to venture into the Chantry. But there was something slightly odd about the way she walked, too; moving with a sort of stalking, catlike grace, like the near perfect balance of a well trained dancer... or fighter. And the way she stared at us... quite interesting behaviour from a woman of the cloth... why_ was_ she watching us?

I dismiss it from my mind. I'm sure it's nothing to be concerned about. Maybe she's just graceful. And as for the staring, well... I don't suppose they get a lot of people kissing in the cloisters. She was probably just... curious, like the wardrobe sisters. I can now add 'corruption of a holy sister' to my list ever-growing of sins against the Maker too, I suppose. Ah, well. He hasn't seen fit to strike me with any divine retribution yet, so I shan't let it concern me in the slightest.

"Come on," I say, smiling down at Merrill and twining my fingers with hers as we resume our interrupted progress towards the alienage. We still have to get her packed, and take a look at the mirror, and all that, after all. "Let's just get to your house and get started before the morning is completely gone. We still have a lot to do. And of course," I lower my head down to speak softly into her ear. "The sooner we get it all done..." I whisper breathily as she giggles sweetly, "then the sooner I can see about making you _quiver _again..."

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><p>Note: Just wanted to add a translation of the elvish I used, since I sort of pieced some words together from what I found on the dragon age wikia page on elven language. (I can't post the url here, the site won't let you post any non-fanfiction urls, but a search for 'dragon age elven language' should bring it up if you're interested.)<p>

I figure in the Dalish camps, clans try to speak as much elvish as possible so they don't lose it, and get their children to do the same. The first two words/phrases are right for sure;

_Mamae_ - Mother

_emma da'vhenan - _my little heart

The last two I had to guess how to say them. I highly doubt if what I put together is perfect, but just to give an idea of what I was trying to say:

_Ma reth - _you're safe

_Numin'din_ - don't cry

...

Also, I should have mentioned that credit for the breakfast scene goes to Lycanthrope232, whose expression of interest in a charmingly awkward dinner scene between Hawke & Merrill & Leandra promtped this scene, which I wouldn't have put in otherwise, but I'm glad I did! So thanks, Lyncanthrope! That was for you, glad you liked it. And thanks to Purple Biscuit for seconding the suggestion.

Another chapter coming up as soon as I can manage, complete with a quest (of sorts)!


	16. Chapter 16

_This took a lot longer than I meant, because I thought I'd try my hand at making up a bit of a quest - which, as it turns out, is a lot harder than one would think. It's nothing great, I'm just having a go. Also I ended up needing more than one chapter, though since I don't like putting up cliff-hangers, I wanted to wait til the second part was done too. Also that helps to make sure they both make sense, and I did keep having to rewrite things so they would; several times. It'll probably take a while to read, then. But hey, you get two for one. As well as trying to follow the main game storyline, my story is going to have a few non-canon elements, and this includes one of them, and maybe sets foundations for others... just some little ideas in my head. Nothing that should really interfere with the story that much, just a few additions and/or minor changes I thought would be either fun or interesting to put in. You'll see. There will be a point to all this, it's all definitely going somewhere, I promise! Eventually. I have no idea how this reads outside my head, but I hope it is at least mildly entertaining. And makes sense. I can't tell if it does, or if it's interesting anymore, I've read over and changed it too many times. :p_

* * *

><p>xxx M xxx<p>

* * *

><p>I pull back my mana, breathing out a quiet but very profound sigh of relief as I finish my examination of the eluvian at last. It feels the just way it used to, now; powerful, but calm, passive. Sleeping again, as though nothing had ever happened to it at all. There was certainly something there, though, before. And Hawke felt it too; that odd, angry presence, I know she did, so I know I'm not crazy. Well, not about this, anyway. But, whatever it was, it seems to have gone, thank the Creators. For the moment, anyway.<p>

Hawke straightens at my feet, sitting back on her heels at the foot of the mirror and tossing the wet rag back into the red-tinged water with a sigh. "There you go. Nice and clean at last," she says, looking up at me with a sweet smile as she brushes her hair out of her face with the back of her hand.

I return her smile and reach out my hand to her, helping her up. "I really wish you would have let me do that," I tell her again, just a little reprovingly, glancing down at the newly scrubbed floorboards beneath the eluvian, now free from all evidence of the bloody mess I left there last night. I had almost forgotten all about it after I went to find her, like none of that... awfulness... had happened at all; so it was quite a shock to see it there when we came in. But Hawke just went and fetched a bucket of water from the pump outside, then went straight into my bedroom and knelt before the mirror, scrubbing all my blood away without a word. She didn't even look cross about it. I really do think she is just too good for me, sometimes. Well, most of the time, really. "I could have managed; I do keep my house clean sometimes, I swear."

She shakes her head at me, still smiling. "I wanted to do it. Besides, it gave you plenty of time to examine the eluvian, didn't it? I know how anxious you were about it." She bends down to pick up the bucket at her feet but I beat her to it, grasping the handle firmly and dragging it out of her reach.

"Thank you, ma vhenan, but at least let me empty it for you. You can take your turn to look the mirror over yourself while I'm outside," I tell her firmly, grabbing the bucket with both hands, trying to hoist it into a more comfortable carrying position, although all I really manage to do is spill a little of its murky contents over my feet. She moves to help me, but I shake my head at her. "Don't worry, I've got it."

"I see that," she says, smiling as I heave the heavy bucket clumsily towards the door, leaving a wet trail as more water splashes over the side every step I take. Well, at least it's getting a bit lighter. And there are a few more slightly cleaner patches on my floor, now. "Hurry back," she calls as I reach the door at last and pull it open.

I smile to myself as I step outside. "Oh, I will, ma vhenan."

I manage to get the bucket over to the vhenadahl without too much difficulty, although there isn't much water left in it by the time I reach it. Two dirty-looking elven men sprawled on the steps across the square laugh loudly each time more water spills over the side of the bucket, their voices coarse and slurred with drink. So early, too; they ought to be ashamed. I ignore them, though, and pour out the remaining contents over the strong, smooth roots, then straighten and give the beautiful tree of the People a fond smile. It's nice that most of the elves here treat the vhenadahl so well; it shows that they haven't completely forgotten all respect for their heritage. I beam at it again and then turn back towards my house, swinging the empty bucket absently in my hand as I walk with a quick step; very eager to get back to Hawke, now, and soon.

My neighbour comes out of her house as I draw near my door, heading over to open the little dressmaker's stall on the corner before her mistress arrives. She smiles when she sees me; one of the only people who ever do, here. I give her a little wave. I couldn't say we're friends, not exactly, but at least she doesn't cross the street to avoid me when I walk by, like most people here. "Hello, Nyssa."

"Good morning, Merrill," she says kindly, setting her basket of thimbles, thread, and needles and things down on the stall counter. "It's nice to see you out and about, at last. Are you well?"

I nod, feeling a little uncomfortable at another reminder of my foolish behaviour these past few days, shutting myself in with the mirror, and all. "Oh... yes, thank you, I am. I was just a little... out of sorts, I suppose." I smile at her; it was very nice of her to ask, after all. "I am grateful for your concern, though."

"Arianni has been asking after you too, you know," Nyssa tells me as she pulls a stool out from under the counter. "I'm sure she'd like to know you're alright." I smile again at the mention of Arianni's name; she is always kind to me, too. I suppose it helps that she's Dalish herself, and that I helped Hawke save her boy from those slavers. I haven't seen her that often since then, though; she's kept herself quite secluded since her son left to live with the clan. "She's been worried about poor Feynriel, lately," Nyssa continues. "Maybe it would help her to talk to another Dalish. Perhaps you could pay her a visit?"

"I will, then, soon," I assure her. I wonder why Arianni is worried aboout Feynriel? He's much safer among the People than in the circle... although, come to think of it, I don't remember seeing Feynriel in the camp when we went to Sundermount. But then, I suppose I was distracted while I was there, for one reason or another. I'm sure he's alright, though. "Thank you, Nyssa."

She gives me another smile in return and settles herself comfortably on her stool, ready for her day's work, and I give her a little nod of farewell, turning towards my door.

"Oh, I wanted to ask; have you seen that shemlen friend of yours again?" she enquires unexpectedly. I look back at her in surprise, and she arches her eyebrow a little. "The one who came by the other day?"

I suppose she must have seen Isabela letting herself in to try and make me feel better after... after Sundermount. She said rather a lot of unkind things about Marethari and the clan, I remember. And Aveline too, for some reason. But not about Hawke. I think she knew I wouldn't want her to, even after what happened. Why does Nyssa want to know if I've seen her since then, though? "Isabela, you mean?"

Nyssa shrugs a little. "I'm afraid I don't know her name, I'd never spoken to her before then."

"Long black hair, tawny eyes, blue headscarf?" I prompt. "Boots that go on forever?"

"Oh!" Nyssa laughs. "No, I didn't mean that one." She shakes her head, smiling. "You do have a lot of human friends, don't you? No, I meant the one who came before she did; the small one. Well, you know, small for a human, anyway." She raises an eyebrow meaningfully at me. "She comes here quite often to see you; she must like you very much. Short black hair, piercing blue eyes? She knocked on your door, and called for you, but you didn't answer."

I stare at her blankly for a moment. It sounds like she's talking about Hawke... but it was night when Hawke came to see me after Sundermount, both times. Nyssa would have long since gone home. But if she saw her, Hawke must have come again the next day... Nyssa said she came before Isabela did... I didn't know that. I don't remember not letting her in, or hearing her outside at all... I must have been working on the eluvian, I suppose. I feel a sudden uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was so consumed by it... maybe I should apologise. Although, maybe... I don't think I'd better mention it to her; best to try and forget all of that. It's done with, now. No need to bring it up again unnecessarily.

"I'm afraid I told her you were there," Nyssa says, watching me a little worriedly when I don't reply; too busy in my own whirling thoughts. "I'm sorry if I shouldn't have. She just seemed so upset that you wouldn't open the door."

I shake my head a little, trying to summon an answer for her. "No, it's... I don't mind, but-"

"Oh, don't worry, she let her in alright this morning," a gruff, slurred voice suddenly says directly behind me, and I turn quickly to find the two drunken men who laughed at me earlier staring down at me with the same leering sort of sneer on their dirty faces. I don't know them, I still hardly know anybody here, after all, but... I have seen them, somewhere... I don't like the way they're looking at me.

"What do you want?" I ask, a little nervously.

They grin slowly. "We saw you; you and your fancy little Hightown shem. Gave us quite a show," one of them drawls, and my eyes widen a little; it was _them_ this morning, staring at Hawke and me outside the Hanged Man... The man's eyes rove up and down my body as he leers at me. "Followed you. Opened your door for her just fine this morning, didn't you? Bet you spread your legs and held your door open for her all night too, hey, little Dalish?" he says drunkenly, laughing in my face, so close to me I can smell the liquor on his breath. I take a step away from him quickly, feeling suddenly anxious at the look in his eyes, and bump against the rough wooden counter of the stall. I start slightly as I feel Nyssa place hand comfortingly on my arm.

"Don't listen to him. Go home, the pair of you. You're drunk," she says, glaring at them both, her voice low and angry. "Leave Merrill alone."

"Oh, no, wouldn't want to hold her up, would we?" the other one grins, closing the distance between us with a few wobbly steps as he gestures carelessly in the direction of my house. "Got her human mistress inside, after all. Ready, wet and waiting, I bet."

His friend laughs loudly, both of them still watching me with the same lewd, contemptuous smirk. "Look how far the proud little Dalish has fallen, hey?" he slurs, a vicious twist to his lips. "Selling herself to some noble shemlen bitch, no better than any back alley whore. Now who's the flat ear, hey? How much do you go for, then, little whore? "

They saw me and Hawke together... but they think I'm a... a... I... should have expected this, I suppose. I stare back at them "I am _not_ a whore," I say quietly, my voice low and angry. "It isn't like that."

They laugh. "Don't tell me she's got you believing that," the first man says scornfully. "A human, with an elf? What else could you be to her? Come on, then. I got coin enough for you, I bet." He tries to grab my arm and misses, stumbling, and I flinch and dodge away from them, my breath catching in my throat as an old memory tries to surface... I push it down forcefully, keeping my eyes on the drunken brute as he steps even closer. "Must know some good tricks; for a human to risk taking a _savage_ to her bed, Dalish. Must be good," he laughs nastily, grabbing for me again, and I stumble back further out of reach as he leers at me, his friend sniggering behind him. _No, don't touch me, don't __**touch **__me..._"How 'bout it, hey? Pretty little thing..."

"Stop it!" Nyssa shouts angrily, her eyes blazing fiercely at them both. "It's louts like you who give the rest of us a bad name! Go inside, Merrill, quickly. I'll get the hahren to deal with them." I nod and try to smile at her gratefully, but I can't manage it. She gives me a small, bracing smile in return and gestures gently towards my door behind me. "Go on."

"Go on, go on," the other one jeers as I disappear inside, Nyssa flashing me a sympathetic look as she hurries towards the hahren's home. "Don't want to keep your mistress waiting, do you? Little whore..."

I close the door firmly against their mocking laughter and stand still for a few moments until I hear it die away at last, trembling in anger, now, and... and fear, a little. I can still hear them talking out there, though; their loud, ale-slurred voices harsh in the air. I wish I could blame their boorish behaviour and awful words on the drink, but... I know they would be thinking exactly the same thing, were they sober. They just wouldn't have come out and said it... probably. I shake my head a bit, trying to swallow the hurt. I should have expected people to think that of me, but I thought... I thought it would mostly be the humans who would be the ones to say such things, I thought the elves here would mostly just keep ignoring me... but it doesn't matter anyway. I don't care what they think, or anyone. But... that doesn't make their words any easier to bear.

And when he tried to grab me...

_'How 'bout it, hey? Pretty little thing...'_

_...pretty little knife-ear..._

I push abruptly away from the door, dropping the empty bucket beside it and walking slowly into my bedroom. Hawke is standing before the eluvian, her hand hovering over the dull surface of the glass, fingers flaring with the deep blue fire of her magic, just the same colour as her wondrous eyes and I sense her mana flowing through her from across the room, twining sinuously in delicate tendrils about the mirror as she examines it carefully, scuffing her foot absently against the floor.

"I think you're right; whatever was going on with it last night seems to have stopped, now," Hawke says as I come in, releasing her mana and turning to me with a smile, which fades slowly as she looks at me, her eyes suddenly filling with concern. "What's wrong?" she asks softly.

I shake my head, suddenly unable to speak, but my eyes flick towards my front door, where I know those drunken louts are still outside, likely waiting to throw more insults or... or propositions at me if I come out again alone... I hope the hahren can get them to go soon, before Hawke and I leave. I don't want her to have to hear their filth.

"It-it's nothing, Hawke-" I begin once I find my voice, but she just shakes her head, stepping towards me and taking me gently by the shoulders.

"It can't have been nothing; you're shaking! What's the matter?" She leads me gently to sit on the bed, sitting close beside me, her expression filled with worry. She lays her hand gently against my cheek. "What happened, Merrill?"

I look up into her beautiful eyes, so full of love and concern, and as much as I... I hate to burden her with this... I don't want to keep anything from her. I tell her haltingly what they said, those men; watching as her face fills with outrage, indignation, and above all else, a terrible sadness. Which only makes me feel worse; I hate to be the one to put such a look in her eyes, even when it's on my behalf. I never want her to feel bad because of me for any reason, ever.

"Oh, Merrill... I'm so sorry. It's alright, now. I'm here," she says, folding me tightly into her arms and holding me close, stroking my back gently, and I rest my head on her shoulder, the warmth and comfort of her closeness soothing my tremors, calming me.

"Did they hurt you?" she asks softly, once my trembling stops at last, her hold on me tightening a little as she speaks.

I hesitate, and then shake my head a little against her shoulder. "No," I tell her, truthfully enough. "They just... oh, Hawke, the things they said..."

"They aren't true," she says gently, though I can feel her quivering now herself, in barely restrained rage, I think. "They don't know what they're talking about. I _love_ you."

"I know," I tell her softly, sitting up to look at her. "It... it shouldn't bother me so much, it's just... it's hard, I mean, knowing people will think that... I'm... that I'm your... "

She gives a growl deep in her throat before I can say it, shaking her head angrily, though not at me, of course. "No one is going to think that, not once I set them straight. Starting with those idiots," she says, her eyes flashing dangerously as she turns her head in the direction of the door, her hand going to the back of her belt where she keeps her little dagger.

I grasp her arm firmly, keeping her beside me; I don't want her to risk starting something. She can't exactly get into a fight with them here, now, not with just her knife. She can't. She mustn't. "I don't really think that will help. And anyway... they've been drinking."

"That's no excuse," she says, still trying to rise. "Drunk or not, I can't just ignore this sort of behaviour, not directed at you."

"No, that's not... What I mean is..." I bite my lip and start again. "Ma vhenan, I know you're very good at intimidating people when you need to, but if they're drunk, they might just attack you, and then what? You'll just have your knife, and you can't use magic, not in front of everyone. You know that. Not that you couldn't handle them without it, of course, but... better safe than sorry."

For a moment, she looks as though she wants to argue, but then she sighs, nodding. "Alright. You're.. you're right."

"My neighbour, Nyssa, said she'll talk to the hahren about them," I reassure her, hearing her hesitation. "The alienage elder, I mean," I add, responding to her questioning look. "It's best to let him handle them."

"Alright," Hawke says again. "Avoid stirring inter-racial tensions, and all that. But if anyone else tries to say such things, or to hurt you... well, I am quite good with this, you know." She pats the place where her little blade is concealed, throwing another dark look in the direction of the door. "Good enough to teach the likes of them a lesson. The permanent sort, if need be."

I smile gently at her. "You're too good to do that, Hawke."

She blinks once, a strange sort of expression crossing her face for a moment. "I... don't know about that," she says softly, seriously. "I'd do anything to protect you, no matter the cost." She smiles, though it's a little flat. "I guess I've shown that already, though, haven't I?"

From the wry, slightly guilty tone of her voice, she's thinking of the arulin'holm again, but... she's still right. She has saved me, protected me, so many times. Keeping me safe, always, just like she promised all those years ago. "Yes," I smile at her. I feel so much better, now. "You have. You always keep me safe. Always there when I call, like... my very own personal hero."

She gives a soft chuckle. "Hero, hmm?" she repeats, smiling lovingly at me, reaching up to sweep a stray strand of hair from my forehead, making me shiver happily as she tucks it behind my ear and cups my cheek in her hand. "If I am anything of the sort, it's only because of you," she says softly, lowering her mouth to mine. "You bring out the best in me, my love."

I smile as she kisses me, feeling wonderful again, although I doubt very much if the best of her has anything to do with me. She would still be the soul of goodness if I had never met her, I know she would, but, well, that was very nice to hear, all the same. And it doesn't matter what anyone thinks about us. The way Nyssa was speaking, though, I think she already thought there was something between us, and she didn't seem to mind, which was nice. I suppose it goes to show not everyone will react like those drunken idiots. And people like them aren't worth bothering with, anyway.

Hawke draws back after a moment, much sooner than I would have liked, cradling my face gently in both hands and stroking her thumbs tenderly over my cheekbones. "Look at me," she laughs, smiling into my eyes. "I've already forgotten my resolve to finish up here before letting myself get carried away with you."

"No, no, that's alright, ma vhenan," I tell her quickly, wrapping my arms about her waist. "You can get carried away with me all you like, I don't mind, really!"

She laughs again. "Well, looks like someone's feeling better." I blush a little, and she lets me go and picks up my pack from the floor beside my bed, handing it to me with another gentle smile. "Best at least make a decent attempt at packing first though, before that happens. Just so we can say we tried."

I nod slowly. She's probably right. If I don't get started now, it might never get done, especially since it is very hard not to let myself get distracted by the way... the way the candlelight makes her eyes shine so... I rise and turn away from her very reluctantly, kneeling before the little clothes chest at the foot of my bed to sort out the most important things to take with me, checking them off in my head as I pack them. My chainmail, of course, and a few tunics, smallclothes...

Hawke makes a very small sound, suddenly, almost like a sigh, and I glance up to find her sitting on my bed, gazing at the eluvian, her full lower lip caught between her teeth as she worries at it thoughtfully.

"Is there something wrong?" I ask her worriedly. "You do think it's alright, don't you?" She did say so, after all, I'm pretty sure.

She blinks and turns to look at me, wide-eyed, before quickly nodding in reassurance. "It seems to be. I couldn't find any trace of... of whatever it was I felt from it, last night."

I nod in relieved agreement as I turn back to stuffing a particularly wilful tunic into my pack, on top of my chainmail. "Neither could I."

"Any idea what was going on with it?" Hawke asks softly.

I pause in my search for my second-best pair of leggings, thinking carefully for a moment. "Well... I did have a few thoughts," I say slowly. I'm not sure whether I'm right, at all, or even close, but... "I've always been able to sense... something in the eluvian, even when it was just a shard. It's not constant, but there's definitely been something there inside it, from time to time. Like there's a sentient presence within the mirror that almost wakes, sometimes, and sort of... watches me. Something ancient. It always felt very calm, and peaceful before, though... except for the last few days. I don't know why, exactly, but maybe it could have been because..." I sigh heavily. I really didn't want to bring this up again, I don't want to remind her and put that sad look back in her eyes, but... "I've never used my blood magic on it when... when I was that angry, before." Hawke flinches a little, but doesn't drop her gaze, and she manages not to look _too_ ashamed of herself. Progress, I suppose. "Maybe... maybe that could have affected it somehow. I don't know for certain; there is so much I don't know about the eluvian itself. It seems almost... aware, sometimes. Perhaps it was sensitive to my anger; maybe it... responded to it."

She turns her gaze to the eluvian again, looking worried. "You can't feel this presence now, though, can you?"

I shake my head. "No. There's the old magic in it, just like normal, but nothing else."

Hawke nods absently, accepting my words without comment, but then after a moment, she begins rubbing the back of her neck uncomfortably, as she always does when she's bothered by something.

_Uh-oh._ "What is it?" I ask her, concern filling my voice.

She looks back at me, a thoughtful expression on her lovely face."You said these mirrors stored knowledge, but were also used all across Thedas as a means of communication between elven cities, right?"

I nod. "Yes. As far as we know, anyway."

Hawke lowers her hand, glancing at the eluvian worriedly. "What if... what if this... presence... can only be felt sometimes, because it isn't always there?" she asks. "What if it's not actually within the mirror itself? It might have nothing to do with the eluvian at all, not the knowledge part. This presence could have been using the mirror from somewhere else, trying to communicate, perhaps."

"There is something to that..." I say slowly, thinking it over. None of the stories ever mentioned anything about the eluvians having minds of their own, after all... something could have been reaching through it, some sort of sentience... I glance at Hawke, feeling a little worried as well, now. "But... what could it have been? Who else would know about it in the first place, let alone know how to try and use it?"

Hawke bites her lip, mulling it over for a moment. "What if it was the demon?" she asks suddenly. "It would qualify as an ancient presence, surely."

It... it is possible, I suppose... Audacity, reaching through the eluvian, fuelling my anger, feeding from my pride... but...

"I don't think so." I shake my head, frowning. It's not just because I don't want to think so, I just really don't believe he could, now that I think about it. "He can barely summon the strength to speak mind-to-mind, trapped as he is, let alone have the power to reach this far without aid, or... or a summons."

Hawke nods a little after a moment, though she doesn't really look very convinced. "You're probably right. Another sort of spirit, perhaps?"

"Maybe..." I let the idea run through my mind for a moment, tilting my head thoughtfully at the dull, unresponsive surface of the eluvian. "I thought once that it might have been one of the spirits of my ancestors inside the mirror. The stories tell us the elves of old lived for centuries, because they did not age and die as we do now. Sometimes they would grow weary of life, though, but instead of dying, they would succumb to a deep, peaceful... sleep, of sorts, to make way for the young. Uthenera, they called it." I glance at her and see a slight look of puzzlement on her face. Oh. I'd better explain that one a little better, I suppose...

"Uthenera," Hawke mutters to herself before I can say anything. Her expression suddenly clears, and she looks up at me. "That means 'the endless dream', right? I remember you telling me about it up in that old graveyard on Sundermount."

I did? But we haven't been back there since... since the day we met. Mythal, she remembers that? I blink at her, impressed. "That's right! How is it you still manage to remember it so exactly?"

"I remember everything about that day," Hawke says quietly. "Well, everything involving you, anyway. That was the best day of my life, you know." She grins cheekily at me. "Well, until last night, that is."

My heart flutters. "Me too," I tell her softly, matching her smile as I remember, then I give my head a little shake. Oh, she is such a distraction! A wonderful one, though. "Um... where was I?"

"Uthenera," she prompts me gently, still smiling.

"Oh. Right. Yes." I look back at the eluvian as I try and order my thoughts. "The hahren would sort of... will themselves into a very deep sleep, and their souls would cross the Veil and wander the dream paths of the Beyond. Sometimes they would wake up in a few hundred years, ready to begin living again, but... sometimes their bodies would fail, and they would die in truth." I sneak a look at Hawke; I hope I'm not boring her too much, but she is still listening quietly, watching me with an expression of rapt, studious interest. Well... that's good, then. I'd best keep going. "Their souls might be lost, then, and wandering, since they were not meant to die. Perhaps Falon'Din never found them."

"You think one of these restless spirits is reaching out to the eluvian?" Hawke asks, catching on quickly, as usual.

I nod. "If so, were they trying to talk to us, do you think?" I muse, not really expecting an answer, just... considering the possibilities. "Perhaps they've been... trying to ask for help, to find a way back into our world?"

Hawke shakes her head worriedly. "Possibly, but... whatever it was in there last night seemed quite... malevolent."

"If it is such a spirit, then it is probably lost, and confused, and afraid," I say, feeling a surge of sympathy for it at the thought. "Maybe that's what we felt from it." That could explain the discrepancies in the emotions I felt from the eluvian, as well. If the spirit _was_ lost - dead, without knowing it, and maybe reaching out instinctively, trying to wake... then finding that its body was gone, leaving it trapped and drifting half in the mortal realm, but unable to reach the Beyond... that could certainly account for the change from peaceful serenity to grief-stricken, wrathful fury. Such a nightmarish experience would be enough to drive anyone mad, surely. Poor lost soul. Assuming that's what it is, of course.

Hawke bites her lip. "Maybe. Either way, I find it more than a little unnerving that something could be trying to reach through this thing, especially if it can exert such... influence."

The effect it had on me, she means, playing on my emotions, my anger... I nod again. I suppose I find it unsettling too, on some level, but... if an elvhen spirit, or any spirit for that matter, was trying to use the mirror the way it was meant to be used _and _very nearly succeeding, then... perhaps the eluvian is nearer to completion than I thought! And if it was an elvhen spirit, then maybe they could tell me more of how to actually use the mirror, once it's done.

Now_ that_ is a very compelling thought...

I take the arulin'holm from my belt pouch and look down at the little cloth bundle for a moment, resisting the urge to unwrap it. Now that I have the arulin'holm, maybe it wouldn't take that much more and then...

Out of the corner of my eye I see Hawke shift uncomfortably on the bed, watching me with a faintly uneasy look on her face, and all at once I remember my resolve, when she gave me the tool. I will not do this in front of her, not again. I look at her with a reassuring smile. "I'm not going to use it, Hawke, not right now. Don't worry."

"It's... it's alright if you need to, at least until we find another way, without that demon's help," Hawke says, her eyes only narrowing very slightly at her mentioning of Audacity. "If you really think it would be safe, now."

She looks quite anxious, despite her words. I'm sure she means what she says, but I can tell she'd still prefer me not to do it. I don't mind, though, I understand why she doesn't want me to keep using blood magic. And... I really would rather not, if I think about it, not if I don't need to, but... just having the arulin'holm, knowing that Hawke trusts me with it whether I use it or not... it makes me feel much more confident about what I am trying to accomplish.

I shake my head vehemently. "I would never use it in front of you, Hawke, I know how you feel about it."

"But I want to help you," she insists, eyes wide. "I want to be here for you." She smiles crookedly. "And besides, the sooner I can work on your cuts, the fewer scars you'll get, after all."

I bite my lip, touched by her offer. If she really wouldn't mind... "Alright. If you're sure..."

She just nods in a determined sort of way, and I smile at her, feeling full of warmth and happiness. I was right the first time, when I thought she would understand what I was trying to do. She did understand; she always wanted to help me with the mirror. She just didn't want me to use blood magic. Before I came here, I never would have thought a human would ever have wanted to help me restore Dalish history, but she does. I know that now. If only I'd explained myself better, or just told her everything from the start, we could have talked about it properly, could have avoided all that trouble. Well, I'll be sure never to let that happen again, for certain.

I'm still not going to use blood magic again until we've at least _tried_ to find another way, though. Best put this somewhere safe for now, then. I move over to the table next to my bed and lift the loose floorboard beneath it, placing the arulin'holm carefully in my safe place as Hawke watches me with curious interest.

"Don't lose that knife," she warns as I replace the board and turn back to her. She grins at me cheekily. "I have a feeling the Keeper is as good at wielding guilt as my mother."

"Oh, I won't!" I assure her. No need to tell me twice. "It would be worth more than both our lives to lose it." I glance over my shoulder at the impassive face of the mirror behind me, and then look back at Hawke. "What do you think we should do now, though? About the eluvian, I mean."

"I thought I'd offer my suggestion of lyrium again," Hawke says, smiling, and then quickly stands and takes my hands in hers when I open my mouth to protest. "I meant it. I wasn't joking, I promise. I'll get you as much as you need, I have contacts. Lyrium would work as well as blood, surely. It has enough raw power."

She... really did mean it. But I can't let her do that, it's far too risky. She can't be thinking clearly about it, surely, or she would see that for herself. I shake my head. "It's too dangerous, Hawke. The amount I would need... you'd never be able to smuggle that much without attracting notice, and if you bought it from the Chantry, well, who needs lyrium besides Templars and mages? You know as well as I do that the Chantry would send mage-hunters to investigate you in an instant." _And I couldn't bear that, especially because of me._

"Ah," Hawke says, letting go of my hands, but only so she can rub at her neck uncomfortably again. She looks embarrassed. "Of course they would. I hadn't even considered that. Foolish of me, really."

"I do appreciate the offer, though," I say to make her feel better. "And I don't think it was foolish. It's really very sweet of you." I look back at the eluvian and sigh, running a hand through my hair. "I tried everything I could find in the Keeper's old scrolls about the old magics, but there was nothing helpful in any of them, almost nothing about eluvians at all, and nothing I tried worked. I don't know where else to look, unless another clan has some other ancient tomes that might mention the mirrors... not that there are any other clans about at the moment to ask, I don't think," I muse aloud, trying not to sound too dispirited as I voice that last thought. If there were other Dalish about, likely the Keeper would waste no time in warning them against me anyway, before I could ask them for help; just as she did our own clan. I wish she could see what I'm trying to do. If she had just helped me in the first place, I wouldn't have needed to ask the demon for help at all, after all. But she believed that Grey Warden, the one who took Mahariel away, when he told her the mirror was too dangerous to try and save. And what did he know about it? He thought it was a Tevinter artifact, of all things!

I shake myself out of my resentful thoughts before I let myself get too worked up and turn to Hawke again, crossing my arms and giving a helpless shrug. "I don't know what else to try, I'm afraid."

Hawke chews her lip thoughtfully for a moment, and then she blinks, her face lighting up. "Old scrolls... ancient tomes... now _that_ gives me an idea, actually."

I look at up her eagerly. "What is it?"

"Well... it might not be very much of one, but... there's that shop beneath Darktown that has a lot of powerful magical items and books for sale," Hawke says. "Some of them are quite old and obscure. It's a long shot, but... there might be something useful to us there. You know; The Black Emporium."

"Oh! Yes, I remember that place." I don't know why I didn't think of it earlier! "That's where I got that frame from, actually," I tell her, waving a hand at the eluvian behind us. "I bought it right after we got back from the Deep Roads, when I went with you and Varric to try and sell some of the relics we found down there."

She glances at me curiously, a puzzled frown creasing her brow a little. "You did? I would have thought I'd remember if I helped you cart a giant mirror frame up from Darktown."

"Oh, no, I paid for it then, and everything, but Xenon had his golem deliver it to me later," I explain. "He said he thought my work was very interesting, when I told him about it." Hawke raises her eyebrows at me, and I clarify hurriedly. "Not about the blood magic, of course! I only said I was trying to fix an ancient elven artifact, that's all, and that it would need a frame that could tolerate magical stress. He said he had just the thing - that it came from a scrying mirror that his assistant broke, and that it would do quite well enough for what I needed." I laugh a little at the memory. "You should have seen the looks on everyone's faces when they saw the golem bringing it into the alienage!" It was fun, I remember, although having everyone see a giant stone man carrying a large empty frame to my house did not exactly encourage anyone to try and talk to me more often, somehow.

"Probably the most interesting thing any of them will ever see," Hawke says, smiling.

"I can't believe it never occurred to me that he might have some old elven scrolls, or tomes; he has so many ancient relics, and things. Oh, I just bet there's something useful amongst it all. Can we go there now, please, Hawke?" I ask, practically bouncing on the balls of my feet.

Hawke smiles at my excitement. "I don't see why not."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" I turn to grab our staves leaning side-by-side against the wall and thrust Hawke's staff into her hands, snapping mine in place on the holder on my back in the same movement. I grab her hand and tug her impatiently towards the door as she laughs in surprise.

"Wait, don't you want your bag?" she asks, glancing to my abandoned pack of clothes still lying on the floor by my bed. "We could spare a moment for you to put your chainmail on at least; we are going to Darktown, after all."

"We'll come back and get my things later," I tell her, throwing my door open with one hand and pulling her insistently behind me with the other, noting briefly that the drunken brutes seem to have gone, thank the Creators. Or Nyssa and the hahren, more likely. I will have to thank them both, when we come back. "And I've already packed it, anyway. Besides, I don't think I'll need chainmail just to go shopping, do you? Especially not if you're with me. What could go wrong?"

She raises an eyebrow, smiling as she pulls the door firmly shut behind her. "Oh, did you have to? Saying that sort of thing tempts fate, you know. Not to mention I can't seem to go five minutes these days without getting jumped."

"Don't worry so much, ma vhenan," I tell her as we head across the square towards the alienage steps. "I'll be fine. Let's go, come on!"

* * *

><p>The lift reaches the bottom at last with a jolt and we move out of the brilliant sunlit shaft into the deep gloom of Darktown, blinking rapidly at the sudden change from brightness to shadow. Oh. I forgot how much I don't like it down here. Everyone always looks so sad, so miserable. Why would people want to live underneath the city? Apart from the dwarves, I mean, but the rest? I know lots of people had nowhere else to go when they weren't allowed into Kirkwall back when the blight was still happening, but, well, it's over now. They could go back to Ferelden, couldn't they, or somewhere else? Although I suppose most people can't really afford that. Maybe they should try sprucing things up down here a bit, then, that might make everyone feel a bit better about it. This place would be so much nicer if they just opened it up to get some sunlight. Of course, I guess Kirkwall would collapse, then.<p>

My eyes adjust to the darkness at last, and I peer across the street at the disused shaft across from us. The secret entrance to the Emporium is over there, somewhere, if I remember correctly. Oh, I can't wait to get down there, there must be something I can use in amongst Xenon's collection, just waiting for me to find it! A sudden flash of white in the shadows to our left catches my eye, and I turn to look more closely... then feel an unpleasant sort of jolt in my stomach as I realise what - who - it is; Fenris, standing at the poisoner's stall with his back to us, speaking in low tones with the black haired elven man behind the counter. Well... that's... I certainly didn't expect to see him down here, of all places; I thought he usually spent most of his time holed up in that Hightown mansion he's squatting in, whenever he isn't helping Hawke with something, anyway. She hasn't noticed him yet; if she had, she would want to be polite and greet him. She does think well of him, after all, in spite of how he feels about mages. I move to point him out to her, but then hesitate; I'm not actually sure I want us to stop and talk to him very much, really. Not today. I think I've had enough insults for one morning already. If Hawke doesn't notice him and he doesn't see us, perhaps we can just keep going...

The man Fenris is speaking to suddenly breaks off in mid-sentence and waves at us. Or at Hawke, more likely, I suppose. It seems like Hawke knows nearly everyone, sometimes; or they know her, at least. Well, so much for not being noticed.

"Hello, Hawke!" the man says, grinning. "Been a while!"

"Tomwise," Hawke says in greeting, then glances apologetically at me and walks over to him and Fenris as I follow close behind her. "Good morning. And to you, Fenris," she adds, although she does sound a little... cautious; probably afraid that he'll say something to upset me, I suppose. Maybe he won't; not in right front of her. Usually he only snaps at me when he thinks she isn't listening. "It's good to see you."

Fenris's usual dark expression noticeably softens when he looks at her and he inclines his head gracefully, something almost like a smile on his lips. He'd better be careful; his face might crack if he ever actually manages a proper smile.

"Hawke," he says, his voice surprisingly gentle. His face hardens abruptly in the next moment, though, as his gaze falls on me, a slight sneer of distaste curling his lip before he looks back to Hawke, suddenly expressionless again. Seeing me displeases him even more than usual today, apparently. Wonderful.

"On speaking terms again, I see," he says to her, a thinly veiled note of disapproval in his voice.

"Among other things," Hawke replies, still sounding guarded. She takes my hand, smiling at me warmly before looking back at Fenris with a challenging sort of expression. He blinks, an unreadable look flashing through his eyes for a moment before he nods again, more curtly.

"Then I wish you well of it," he says quietly. He sounds sincere enough, sort of, although I doubt any of the well wishes are for me, somehow.

"You know this fellow then, do you, Hawke?" the poison maker, Tomwise, I suppose, puts in suddenly. He raises a questioning eyebrow at Hawke glancing between her and Fenris. "Thought you weren't running with the Red Iron anymore. Don't tell me you're back working for Meeran?"

"No," Hawke answers, rather shortly. "I will_ never_ work for that filth-ridden scumbag again." She doesn't seem to like him very much, whoever this Meeran person is. I wonder why not? Tomwise blinks in surprise at the anger in her tone, and she gives an apologetic shake of her head. "Fenris doesn't work for him either," she continues, a bit more gently. "He's a friend, Tomwise."

Tomwise gives Fenris an appraising sort of look. "I see. My mistake. Although, you look enough like a mercenary, anyway. You a freelance hunter for the Templars, then?"

"No," Fenris replies abruptly, glancing at Hawke, and Tomwise frowns.

"Oh. Apologies. I assumed because of all the magebane you wanted-"

"Magebane?" Hawke asks questioningly, raising her eyebrows. She sounds as uncomfortable as I feel, hearing the name of that awful potion. What does he want _that_ for?

"A mana-draining poison made from lyrium dust," Tomwise answers, apparently thinking she was asking him. "Templars coat their armour and weapons with the stuff. As do any mercs who think they'll be going up against mages. Get near enough to a spellcaster while wearing magebane, and they're completely at your mercy." He frowns at Hawke. "I would have thought you'd have seen it before in your old line of work. Meeran certainly ordered enough of it, that whole year you were with him-"

"I know what it does," Hawke cuts him off, her voice strained. I look up at her in concern, but her eyes are on Fenris, I can't see her face properly. She sounds upset, is she alright? "Magebane, Fenris?" she asks again quietly.

"I... simply wish to be prepared, should Danarius ever return. I don't plan to use it on anyone else," Fenris says carefully. Hawke nods after a moment, accepting his explanation. She can't really have thought he'd buy magebane to use on one of us, no matter what he thinks of Anders and me. He respects her too much for that, and he certainly wouldn't use it on her, she knows that. I wonder why the mention of it bothered her so much, then?

I don't get any time to think about it, however, as a warm voice suddenly calls out to us from the street below. "Hawke! I didn't expect to see you down here!" Oh, she _is_ popular, isn't she?

I turn to see Anders climbing the steps toward us, a small but agreeable smile on his face, though his eyes are strained with worry, as usual. I suppress a small sigh. Mythal, he's here too, then? Lovely. Not that I'm... displeased to see him exactly, I suppose, it's just... I'm really not in the mood to be frowned at - or sneered at - from both sides, today. And I really do want to get to the Emporium, now.

"Merrill," he says, nodding a greeting to me as he reaches us, his voice slightly less warm, but without the customary tone of weary disapproval this time. Well, that's a pleasant change, anyway. And at least he actually thought to greet me, that was nice of him. His eyes flick to Fenris, and his jaw clenches, just a little. It almost feels as though the air between them grows colder. "Fenris."

"Mage," Fenris sneers frostily back.

"I'll assume that was directed at me," Anders says, raising a wry eyebrow. "You do realise you are currently in the minority, here." Fenris suddenly seems to realise the same thing, glancing around at all of us rather uncomfortably before looking away, shifting on the spot a little. Hawke shakes her head a little at their behaviour, sharing a weary, mildly-irritated glance with me as Anders watches him with a smug sort of half smile.

"Were you coming to buy some poisons too, then?" Hawke asks Anders, sounding like she wants very much to distract him before Fenris notices his look. "It seems somewhat out of character for a healer."

Anders' grin fades as he glances at her. He looks a bit sort of... shifty, now, actually. "No. No poison. I have... other business," he says evasively, and steps over to the poison-maker's stall behind us. He glances about to see if anyone else is within earshot and lowers his voice, though we are still near enough to hear him quite well. "Tomwise... I don't suppose you'd mind doing the Underground another favour?" he says, giving Tomwise a very intent sort of look.

"As long as this favour pays the same as the others," the poison-maker grins.

Anders chuckles and reaches into his belt pouch for a few coins, glancing around again before he leans in closer, lowering his voice even more. "I heard rumours the Templars are looking for our newest rescue. Go to the Lowtown haven, and escort her to our Hightown safehouse. She'll be safer there." Tomwise nods, slipping the coins into his pocket as he slips out from behind his stall counter and heads off towards the lift with a brisk step.

"Shall I assume that was somehow involved with the mysterious 'Underground Resistance' of free mages you still stubbornly refuse to tell me anything about?" Hawke asks wryly as Anders turns back to us.

His brows draw together slightly at the faint note of wry accusation in her tone. "I've told you; that's for your own protection," he protests. "And theirs. You have too much involvement with the nobility and the guard. And I don't want to give the Templars reason to investigate you, either. You attract enough notice as it is."

She sighs a little. "But I want to help, if I can. There must be something I can do."

Anders looks at her for a moment, rubbing at the stubble on his chin. "Well... there is something I might need your assistance with soon..." he says slowly, his voice tailing away frustratingly.

"Yes?" Hawke prompts him patiently after a moment, but he shakes his head.

"On second thought, not out here," he says quietly. "This isn't something I want to be overheard. It's too... sensitive."

Hawke raises an eyebrow at him. "Dangerous, you mean?"

He nods. "I'm afraid so."

"Well, then it sounds quite intriguing," she says with a little grin. "What would you have of me, Anders?"

"Nothing yet, but... perhaps later," Anders promises her. "I will let you know if I need you, and fill you in more thoroughly. In private," he adds, his eyes flicking pointedly at Fenris, who glares coldly at him.

"I have little interest in thwarting your attempts to unleash others of your kind upon the city, mage, considering your efforts thus far have been futile at best," he says, and his voice gains a rising tone of heat as he continues. "Though, perhaps you might consider attempting to solve your own problems and leaving Hawke out of it, if you truly wish to protect her as you claim."

"It's none of your business, Fenris," Anders says with a forced sort of calm. "Keep your nose out of it."

"Why should you make it Hawke's concern?" Fenris growls, his eyes growing harder as his gravelly voice fills with smouldering ire, and Hawke tilts her head at him with a look of confusion on her face. I am no less surprised; why is he getting himself so worked up about this? "It's all very well to declare you wish to keep her free of Templar scrutiny - until you are faced with something too... 'sensitive'. Then it appears you are all too happy to thrust Hawke into the line of fire to shield your worthless hide."

I sigh beneath my breath, and feel more than hear Hawke do the same beside me. _Well, here we go, then..._

Anders draws himself up, glaring daggers at Fenris, and I imagine I can almost see the crow feathers on his coat ruffling in lively, sympathetic anger. "Are you implying that I am a coward?" he says loudly.

"I was," Fenris sneers, "but I am also prepared to express my implication more directly, if the subtlety confuses you."

"Alright-" Hawke tries to say, but neither man listens; both seem completely absorbed in exchanging hateful stares, now. They look oddly alike, like this; feet planted angrily, arms crossed, glaring furiously into each other's faces. It makes me think of just how much else they have in common, I'm sure they'd get along much better, if only they could see it too. Both fugitives from a life of captivity and abuse, both on the run, both trying to stay free however they can. Both of them start glowing bright blue whenever they get too angry... which is starting to look like it might be any moment, now.

"I don't want to involve her but I'm running out of options," Anders says, more angry and indignant than ever. "And you heard her yourself; she wants to help. Hawke is a mage herself, if you recall. Although you seem content to ignore that fact, while you continue to use her influence with Aveline to keep the guard off your back; I assume so you can keep brooding away in Hightown without interference, doing nothing but wallowing in self-pity."

Fenris's eyes flash angrily, his lyrium scars flaring brightly, and he starts forward, looking like he is about to hit Anders, or rip his heart out, perhaps-

"Enough!" Hawke says, quickly stepping in between them; putting her hand gently on Fenris' upper arm in a calming sort of way. Her fingers graze the bare skin above his gauntlet, and he gives a short, quiet intake of breath, snapping his gaze to hers sharply at the contact, the lines on his skin flaring once and then fading quickly. Her eyes widen and she drops her hand immediately.

"I'm sorry, Fenris," she says apologetically. "I didn't mean to touch your markings. I know you find that uncomfortable."

"It... it is of no concern," Fenris says, though I notice him press his gauntleted fingers to the spot on his arm where she touched him, just for a moment. Did it really bother him that much? Poor Fenris. Despite everything, I can't help but feel so sorry for him, sometimes. It's terrible what those magisters did to him. I can understand why he distrusts mages so, but I would have thought he might have seen something good in at least one of us by now. Not Anders or me, obviously. He'll never trust an abomination or a blood mage... although I suppose not many other people would either, really. But I would have thought he would at least have changed his mind after knowing Hawke, even just a little bit. It certainly doesn't seem as though he hates her too, the way he speaks to her so gently, without any trace of spite or venom in his voice like when he talks to me or Anders; I'm sure I've never heard him speak to Hawke that way. Well, apart from the very first time he realised what she was, of course. He was quite rude to her then. But he's never spoken to her like that again since, I don't think; at least, not within my hearing. I wonder why not, if he still hates mages so much?

"I'm grateful for your concern, Fenris," Hawke says, giving him a soothing smile. "But this is a matter close to my heart. Of course I want to help, however I can." I smile in proud agreement at her honest, noble words, though I keep silent, not really wanting to attract attention to myself. Anders and Fenris seem to have forgotten my presence for the moment, which I don't mind, right now. It's sort of nice to have a break from being lectured or scorned by either of them. Or both at once. "I'm sure you can understand that."

Fenris presses his lips together, looking very much like he wants to argue with her some more, but after a moment he nods resignedly, relenting. I blink and watch his face closely as Hawke looks away from him and back to Anders. He has such a strange expression in his eyes all of a sudden, now that he thinks no one is watching him looking at her. Sort of sad, and wistful, and... longing, almost? But... lost... and bewildered as well. A bit like one of those miserable little puppies that are always running about in the Lowtown market; begging people for scraps of food and affection, all the while expecting a kick in the ribs at any second, poor little things. Why _is _he looking at her that way, I wonder? Perhaps it's the concept of having a mage for a friend; having her being so nice and kind and helpful to him all the time is completely at odds with his general concept of us, after all. I'm sure it must be very confusing for him.

"Right," Anders says abruptly. "Glad we've sorted all that out, then. I'll tell you more later, Hawke; if I do end up needing your help, that is." He gives her a very warm smile. "I promise. And thank you. Though for your sake, I hope your help won't be necessary." He pauses for a moment, his eyebrows contracting a little. "What were you doing down here, anyway, buying poisons? Or were you looking for me? Does one of you need healing? I'm sorry, I should have asked first," he finishes in a hurried rush, looking concerned.

"Oh, no, Anders, don't worry, we're alright," I reassure him. I almost add that Hawke could heal either of us just as well as he could if we were hurt, but then I think better of it; I don't want to hurt his pride, after all. Hawke says men don't tend to cope very well with that. "We were on our way to visit a shop, actually."

He frowns, glancing from Hawke to look at me. "A... shop? Down here? But there's only Tomwise's stall-"

"The Black Emporium," Hawke explains, interrupting him, and Anders blinks in surprise.

"You don't mean... the legendary hidden magic shop run by Xenon the Antiquarian?" he asks. "The man who made a deal with the Antivan Witch of the Weyrs, asking for eternal life? I read about him in the circle, but... I thought he was just a legend!"

"A legend? Really?" Hawke asks with a bemused smile. "I'd never heard of him before I received his invitation."

"Supposedly he was a Kirkwall noble born almost three hundred years ago in the Steel Age," Anders answers, his eyes shining with excitement. "The book I read said he sought the witch because he was afraid of death. She granted his wish, but he forgot to ask for eternal youth as well, leaving him trapped helplessly in a decaying body kept alive only by magic."

"Well, that sounds about right," I agree, shuddering again as I remember my first sight of the great mass of paralysed flesh slumped in the middle of the shop. Poor man. What an awful fate.

"Eternal life," Fenris says scornfully, and I jump; I didn't realise he was still listening. "He had the foolish pride and ambitions of a magister. It sounds as though he is paying the price for his arrogance."

Anders ignores him, his eyes fixed on me and Hawke. "You've seen him? It's true, then?"

"Well, he truly exists, if that's what you mean," Hawke says, sounding amused by his boyish excitement. "He invites anyone with enough coin to come and peruse his wares. So he can fund his search for a cure, I suppose, assuming that story is true. The shop is actually hidden right below us, more or less. We were just on our way there."

Anders' face lights up hopefully. "Mind if I tag along?"

Fenris glances quickly at Anders, his eyes narrowed, and then looks at Hawke. "I would also like to come with you, if you will allow it," he puts in hurriedly, and I blink at him in surprise. Fenris wants to come with three mages to a magic shop? Did the world go mad when I wasn't watching?

Hawke raises an inquisitive eyebrow at him. "Are you sure? It's an emporium of magic, you know. Full of... magical things. Doesn't really seem like something you would... enjoy."

He shifts his weight uncomfortably. "This Xenon... sounds like an abomination. Certainly something unnatural. I would feel better if I could accompany you. I do not wish you to come to harm."

Well, that's just silly. Didn't we just say we'd been there before? Xenon is no abomination, anyway, and even if he was, it isn't like Hawke couldn't deal with him herself. Though I probably shouldn't tell him that, either, it would hurt his pride, too. "Oh, don't worry, Fenris. We've been to see him before, he's harmless enough." I tell him. "He certainly doesn't look dangerous, at all."

Fenris gives me an icy stare; so cold I very nearly check my toes for frostbite. "Appearances can be deceiving," he says scathingly. "Even the most innocent face can conceal a monster."

I flinch as sudden tears of hurt prick beneath my eyelashes, and a stab of pain as Pol's last words to me echo in my mind...

_Keep away from me, monster!_

I'm not... That isn't fair... I should have expected it, I suppose, but...

Hawke gives him a coldly measured look, grasping my fingers soothingly in her own. "Keep speaking to Merrill in this way, and I may reconsider letting you accompany me again at all. Ever. I believe I have already expressed my feelings on this matter." She looks hard at him for another long moment until he drops his eyes a little, then she looks at me, shrugging. "It's up to you, whether they come with us or not," she murmurs, so soft that not even Fenris will be able to hear. "Considering what we're going down there for, it might be better to go alone."

I think it over for a moment, frowning. Well... Anders and Fenris would certainly not have been my first choice for company, not for this... but... Anders just seems so excited about it, and it's so rare to see him without that sad, worried look in his eyes... and as for Fenris, well... I suppose... there's no harm in letting him come, if it makes him feel useful. And he does seem... slightly happier, sometimes, when he's following Hawke. It would probably be good for him. I am tempted to say no - very tempted, actually - but... well, I don't want to be petty... Besides, if he says anything else like that to me then Hawke will make him leave, anyway, so he'll have to keep quiet, won't he?

I nod. "They can come." I glance up at Hawke, who looks back at me with a mildly surprised sort of expression on her face. "We can look for what we need without having to explain it to them, after all," I explain quietly. "And besides, maybe it might help Fenris not to be so..." I lower my voice even further, so he definitely won't hear me, "... so afraid of magic, if he sees that there's nothing dangerous about the Emporium."

Hawke gazes at me for a moment, and then her face lights up in a lovely smile. "Thinking of others before yourself, as always," she says quietly, a warm, loving note in her voice. "And you think _I'm_ too good?" She turns back to Anders and Fenris before I can respond and fixes them both with a very stern look. "You're both welcome to join us, but I will not tolerate any antagonism from either of you." She pauses thoughtfully. "On second thought, since that seems optimistic to the point of foolishness, I will settle for a lack of overtly open hostility." They both glance at each other with identical dubious expressions and Hawke raises a warning finger at them. "I mean it. No name calling, no hair pulling, no trying to kill each other, and _no_ _biting_. You will both have to behave yourselves and at least _try _to be civil to one other." She locks gazes first with Anders, then with Fenris, and her voice grows even more serious. "_And_ you will both endeavour to be especially civil to Merrill. Clear?"

"Of course," Anders says quickly.

Fenris is looking at her again with his sad puppy eyes, which abruptly resume their cold, hard stare as he sees me watching him, along with a special bit of extra venom, just for me. I shake my head a little. I don't think he's doing himself any favours with that look, not after what Hawke just said, but he manages to smooth his expression after a moment and looks at her solemnly, nodding once.

"Agreed."

She watches him carefully, and eventually nods back, accepting his promise. "Alright, then. Let's go, shall we?" she says, and beckons us to follow her back over to the lift. "The entrance is hidden over here," she tells the others over her shoulder. "The shop is in the tunnels right above the ancient sewerage system, I think."

"Oh," says Anders, suddenly sounding a lot less enthusiastic. "Wonderful. I wasn't aware the lift went that far down."

Hawke grins back at him. "It doesn't." She tilts her head at the now empty shaft housing the lift currently raising Tomwise to the surface. "Not that one, anyway. But the other shaft goes much further than this."

Fenris looks dubiously at the opposite shaft, looking at the rubble piles carelessly in the entrance, running his eyes over the broken platform dangling precariously from its rusty, broken chains. "The... other?" he asks, his voice doubtful. "Are you certain about this?"

Hawke just smiles. "Trust me."

She ducks beneath the wooden beams leaning haphazardly against the filthy wall of the shaft, and I follow her. Fenris and Anders step through after us, both wearing twin confused expressions as they look down at the heavy iron grate covering the shaft below us. Hawke shares a small grin with me, and then she reaches out and presses her palm against the cleverly concealed switch built into the wall of the shaft. Both men give a start of surprise as the grate begins to slide smoothly back into the wall, revealing another lift platform a few dozen paces below us, suspended from a thick chain connected to a sturdy iron beam spanning the shaft.

"Huh," Anders says in an impressed sort of voice. "Er... how exactly do we get down there, though?"

"With that," I tell him, pointing to the small, very delicate looking ladder clinging to the wall.

"Right. Of course. Wonderful," Anders says, looking uncertainly at it. It does look a bit shaky, I suppose. It held up just fine for me and Hawke, but then... Anders is a lot bigger than either of us. He's probably worried he'll rip it of out of the wall the second he steps onto it. I'm sure it will be fine, though. It's only a short climb, after all. And it managed to hold the weight of that golem, plus the heavy frame he was carrying for me. I can't really tell him about that without explaining about my eluvian though. I don't know how much he knows about it, by now, if anything, but I bet it would't help to mention it. I guess he'll just have to trust us. Well, trust Hawke, anyway.

"Ladies first," he grins at us, bowing with an exaggerated sweep of his arm towards the ladder.

"Such a gentleman," Hawke mutters wryly as she steps out onto the ladder with nimble grace and slides down, her boots thumping against the rough wood of the platform as she lands. "Just for that, you get to work the bloody thing," she calls to Anders as I clamber down after her. "And it's quite a long way down." She chuckles a little as she wraps her hands around my waist to lift me off the ladder, which isn't strictly necessary, of course; I am perfectly capable of managing that much at least without falling over, but... well, I'm pretty sure she knows that. She takes a long moment to drop her hands once I'm safely on the platform, grinning cheekily into my eyes, and I give her a happy smile in return. Well... I'm certainly not going to complain, am I?

"A poor reward for my good manners," Anders says mournfully as he climbs down after us, rather more slowly. Hawke chuckles again.

Fenris ignores the ladder completely, simply leaping lightly down onto the platform, his bare feet barely making a sound as he lands softly beside Hawke. "By all means, take your time, mage," he calls, the ghost of a smug sneer on his lips. "Should you tread on your skirts and fall to your death, it would be _such_ a tragedy for us all."

Anders reaches the bottom and gives him a dignified glare before taking his place at the lift lever. "Show-off," he mutters. "This is clearly a coat, not a robe. And anyway, at least if I fell on you, I'd be making the world a better place by taking you into the Void with me."

"Boys," Hawke says warningly, in the sort of voice the Keeper uses to speak to unruly children. "What did I just say about keeping your mouths off each other?" I have to press my lips together hard to keep from bursting into a fit of giggles at the image her words put in my mind, I doubt if either of them would appreciate it very much if I did.

"Did you really have to put it like that?" Anders mutters shooting Hawke a dark glance as he grasps the winch handle.

She grins wickedly at him. "I really did."

Fenris curls his lip in disgust, and moves to stand in the corner of the lift, as pointedly far away from Anders as possible, bracing himself on the support chain at the platform edge. The lift starts with a sickening lurch as Anders begins working the lever. I manage to keep my balance, but Hawke wraps her arm about my waist anyway, flashing me another cheeky smile as she pulls me against her, blue eyes sparkling wickedly. She tightens her hold a little, and I lean into her warmth.

No. _Definitely_ not complaining this time, either. Not even a tiny bit.

* * *

><p>xxx H xxx<p>

* * *

><p>The last of the meagre light from Darktown disappears as the lift descends further, leaving us surrounded by inky blackness. I raise my free hand, keeping the other wrapped firmly about Merrill's slender waist, and summon a little ball of flickering blue fire, causing eerie, wavering shadows to dance and crawl across the rough stone walls of the shaft. Slightly creepy shadows, admittedly, but that can't be helped; I need light to watch for the signs that the Emporium is near. I scrutinise the dark stone walls of the shaft closely, searching for... <em>aha!<em> A small rune the size of a handprint crawls up the wall as the lift shudders past it: the same as the sign carved into the tiny charm of entry in my belt pouch. This is it. We're here. A few more turns of the lever, and I signal Anders to stop.

"What?" he asks breathlessly, mopping his sweaty face on his sleeve. "Is this it?" He looks around, frowning in confusion. "This can't be it, there's nothing here." Fenris refrains from commenting, but I see his eyes glint as he glances around the narrow shaft, a doubtful twist to his mouth.

I shake my head a little, grinning wryly, remembering how similar my reaction to the Emporium's hidden entrance was, at first. "Such faith and trust you have in me, the both of you. It's very comforting." Merrill giggles softly beside me, and I grin at her as I let her go and step towards the wall. "Merrill? Would you mind taking over for a moment?" I ask, holding up my fireball meaningfully.

She nods and fills her small palm with a shining orb of pale green flame, lighting the wall before me as I move in closer, running my eyes slowly over the chisel-marked stone. After a moment I find the place I'm looking for - a small raised runic carving jutting out slightly from the wall, precisely the same size and design as the entry charm. I pull the little token out of my pouch and press it against the carving, making certain to line up the runes exactly. The charm flares brightly, and a web of glowing white lines spread out from around it, twisting and wriggling across the surface of the wall, forming a large, glowing rectangle of light, and then the illusion of rough stone within the shining portal shimmers and fades, revealing a plain and somewhat unimpressive wooden door built almost seamlessly into the side of the shaft.

Anders gives a low whistle. "That was some impressive magic," he comments, locking the lift mechanism in place and stepping forwards to examine the door closely. He runs his hands first over the wall carving, and then the edges of the door. I can feel him reaching out with his mana, prodding gently at the boundaries of the spell. "I could use something like this at the clinic. It would be perfect for a safe room, particularly when the Templars come sniffing about. I wonder I can purchase the incantation here-"

"If you stand here all day on the threshold staring at the entrance, you will never know, will you?" Fenris mutters impatiently, and Anders straightens, stepping back.

"Fair enough," he says shortly. I can't really tell them off for that exchange, since it didn't really break any of my rules. It was borderline snippy, though. I suppose I can't reasonably expect them to hold off for long, can I?

I push against the door and the latch gives a soft click as it swings easily open, revealing a large, apparently bottomless room, with wooden platforms sticking haphazardly out from the stone walls, piled high with dusty crates, barrels and creepy-looking statues. A rickety wooden bridge stretches from the doorway across a deep, dark drop, leading to a platform built in the centre of the gloomy underground chamber, crowded with tables and chests and shelves all crammed with scrolls, potions, relics and other miscellaneous items. The imposing Emporium golem moves aside as we reach the end of the walkway, his heavy steps shaking the entire platform, causing the whole construction to creak alarmingly until he reaches the corner and falls still, though his glowing eyes still appear to follow us as we step towards his master; the twisted hulk of dry, grey flesh seated dead centre on a high backed wooden chair in the middle of the shop.

"Aaaaahhhh... customerrrsss..." Xenon's deep, wheezy voice echoes all about us as we approach. "Greetings, Haaawke... And... little... Merrill... Such... a pleasuuuurrre..." He breaks off into a bit of raspy coughing; which seems unnecessary, since his body doesn't actually appear to breathe. Perhaps he finds it entertaining?

I grin and give Xenon's gnarled physical form an amiable nod, although since his consciousness seems to inhabit the shop as a whole, nodding at anything in general would probably do well enough. This seems rather more respectful, though, somehow. "Greetings, Xenon."

"Hello, messere Xenon," Merrill says, giving him a sweet smile. "Are you... well?" she asks, after a short pause, probably trying to decide whether or not he might take offence to such a question in his... condition.

"Well enough... my dear... well enough..." Xenon croaks, chuckling a little, the little glass bauble clutched tightly in his desiccated fingers flashing in time to each sound; a magical orb that allows the mind trapped within the decaying, immobile body to see, hear and speak as well as granting a sort of localised omnipresence within the confines of his shop. Not for the first time, I wonder where he managed to procure such a thing; it's quite a work of magical ingenuity, wherever it came from.

"Ahhh!" Xenon rumbles as Anders and Fenris step out from behind us. "You have brought friends, I see. _Neeewwww_... customerrrrssss! Urchin! Thaddeus! Stand straight!" he commands. The little red-haired mute boy standing beside Xenon's 'throne' opens his eyes wide at the order and stands ramrod straight, legs trembling slightly with the effort. The golem in the corner doesn't move. "Welllllcommmme... to the Black... Empooorrrriummm... I am the Great and Magnifffficennnt... Xenon the Antiquarian. And I am very pleased... to have so very many visitorrrrs at once. It's... _so_ rare to have... company," Xenon chuckles wheezily. "Well... mmmm... _living_ company... at any rate."

"Good day, Ser Xenon," Anders says politely, stepping forwards. "It's quite a privilege to meet the legendary Antiquarian."

"Another mage, hmmmmm?" Xenon wheezes, his tone intrigued. "I sense the magic in your blood... ah, but there is also... taint... unforrrtunate. You are... a Grey Waarrrden, yes?"

Anders glances at me questioningly, but all I can offer him is a shrug and a shake of my head. Somehow, Xenon knew Merrill and I were mages too, the moment we first walked in. I've never been able to figure out how, let alone speculate how he sensed the taint in Anders. I suspect he has some sort of mystically invasive item on hand; one that can apparently sense things in blood. Quite creepy, actually. I think I'd rather not ask.

"I was a Warden, once," Anders replies, his demeanour suddenly much more guarded. "How could you tell, about the taint, I mean?"

"Ohhh... I have... many secrets..." Xenon replies mysteriously. "Welcome to you, and your... _passenger_... of course. So strange, to see a Fade spirit in the morrrrtal realm..." Anders' eyes open very wide in surprise in response to Xenon's knowing words, as do mine. He detected Justice? Now that_ is_ impressive. "Let me know... what you'd like... to purrrrchase," he continues. "Looking this... dapper... cossssts a lot of gold..."

"I'll... just... browse a bit, I think," Anders says, suddenly sounding more than a little uncomfortable.

"By aaaalllll means! Look around! Sooooo many things to admiiiire!"

Anders bows slightly, keeping his eyes on Xenon a little suspiciously as he backs away, and then turns towards an open chest overflowing with relics and trinkets. Merrill wanders over to crouch by a pile of ancient and very dusty scrolls and tomes as I move to lean against the thankfully sturdy railing of the platform beside her, smiling down fondly at my little elf as she carefully sorts through the jumble of tattered old writings at my feet, then glancing at Anders as he paws through the relic chest in fascination, his discomfort over Xenon's extremely perceptive scrutiny apparently forgotten. My gaze eventually settles on Fenris as he runs his eyes curiously over the stone walls and ceilings, in between suspicious glances at the unmoving, decrepit body of the undead Antiquarian, pacing slowly about the shop with the loping grace of a stalking cat. He narrows his eyes as he squints up the shafts of light pouring through the pillared archways above our heads, and then peers over the edge of the platform into the darkness of the yawning cavern below us, and an even deeper frown than usual appears on his sombre face.

"Something wrong, Fenris?" I ask him, smiling. He looks at me sharply, his eyes widening slightly as he notices my regard. He doesn't say anything, just stares at me for a few moments. I shift a little uncomfortably as the silence draws out. What's gotten into him? Is he having second thoughts about coming with us? Bit late now, really.

"Cat got your tongue?" I ask him eventually, my smile widening a little, although admittedly I am slightly confused by much of his behaviour so far today. I'm beginning to wonder if I ought to be concerned. "Are you alright?"

He blinks and gives a minute shake of his head as though trying to clear it. "No. Ah, yes. My apologies, Hawke. I was merely... studying the construction of this place," he replies softly, and gestures at the pillars forming part of the arched, open windows in the black stone walls high above us, the air whistling through them bringing in the salty tang of the sea. "It appears to be part of an ancient ruin built directly into the cliff face. I... have seen architecture such as this before... in Minrathous."

Ah. Perhaps that is what was bothering him, then. I suppose he must have connected it with some sort of awful memory of his enslavement. No wonder he looks so tense.

"Such... a _clever_ fellow... this one..." Xenon chuckles delightedly, and we turn to look at him. "Indeed, my boy. There are many ruins such as this littering the cliffs of Kirkwaaaallll. They were built... centuries ago, by the magisters... when the Imperriummm ruled here, back when the city was new. The palaces crrrumbled into the sea long ago, when the slaves revolted and the Tevinters fell... Only hidden places such as this... remain..." His feeble tone suddenly rings with authoritative command. "_Do not... tell... annnnyone... of the locaaation... of my shop!_ The consequences... will be... unpleasannnnt..." He finishes with a low, sinister chuckle that breaks into another fit of unnecessary coughing, before he manages to continue, his tone light and amiable once more. "Such strraange marrrkings you wearrr! Step closer, dear boy. Let me... have a better look at you..."

Fenris gives him a suspicious stare, and glances at me. I give him a small shrug but nod reassuringly, and he takes a small step forward. I'm sure it won't hurt to let Xenon look him over.

"Hmmm..." Xenon grunts. "Lyrrriummmm, are they? Do they grant you any... abilities?"

"They... have proven useful," Fenris grudgingly - and evasively - replies, glancing down at the curling, twisting white lines dancing across the skin of his arms.

"Interesting... the patterns remind me of... something... yes... the Tevinter 'Lyrium Warrior' exxperrimentsss... You obtained these marrrkings in Minrathous... did you not? From... a magisterrr..."

"I did," Fenris says darkly, then looks up at Xenon with a sudden glint of hope in his green eyes, though his expression remains suspiciously cautious. "Have you... seen anything like this before?" he asks, something almost like eager excitement in his tone, though outwardly he remains as restrained as ever.

"Alaaassss, no..." Xenon says regretfully, but in the next moment his voice abruptly grows thoughtful. "But I _have_ read... something... of old Tevinter rituals... there may be something of interessst to you... Urchin! Find the scroll... for the gennntleman..." he barks suddenly. "You know the one... the Tevinter Imperium's 'Fortikum Kadab'... I was reading it... last week... or was it last month? So harrrd... to rememmmberrrr..." Urchin pales, his blue eyes darting frantically about the myriad of identical dust-covered scrolls littered about the platform. "Hurrrrry, boy! The cussstomer is... waaaiting!" The child jumps, and springs towards the nearest pile, clearly desperate to please his master. "Good boy..."

Fenris glances at Urchin, a look of discomfited concern flitting over his face. "There is no need for-" he begins, and is suddenly - rudely - interreupted as a loud roar rends the air around us, echoing up from the darkness beneath our feet and shaking the walls and the ceiling, the reverberations causing flurries of ancient dust and earth to rain down on our heads. Fenris draws his sword in a movement almost too swift to be seen, eyes straining into the black chasm, looking for the source of the noise as his markings flare with blue glowing light, clearly visible even through his armour. Merrill and Anders straighten quickly, pulling their staves free from their holders a fraction of a second behind me.

"Now, now," Xenon chuckles, sounding quite amused. "No need to be concerrrnned. My, what at interrrresting effect..." he adds, half to himself, apparently fascinated by Fenris's lyrium glow.

I listen closely for a few moments but the roaring seems to have died away, at least for the moment. Cautiously, I return my staff to my back, Anders and Merrill following suit. Fenris sheathes his sword a moment later, though he doesn't look particularly convinced by Xenon's reassurances.

"What in the name of the Creators was that?" Merrill asks, reaching up to brush a streak of dirt from my cheek as I dust a few stray grains from her hair and shoulders.

"Nothing to worry about... I assurrre you," Xenon answers cheerfully. "The creaturrres are always ressstless... just before feeding time."

Did... did I hear that right? "Creatures?" I ask, puzzled, noting similar looks of consternation as I glance around at everyone.

"Indeed! I have... _quite_ a wonnnnderful collection... of exotic... animals... in the ruins below," Xenon drawls. "They are... very useful, parrrticularly those that produce ingredients for the creation of potions... and poisonnnns. And some of my cussstomerrrs... have a fascination for rare and... shall we say... innnnterrresting creaturrrres..."

"So, you keep a bunch of dangerous beasts right underneath your shop?" Anders asks, raising an eyebrow. "That's... an unusual feature. Just how far below us did you say these ruins are? Are they just sort of... roaming about down there?"

"Some may be considerrrred... dangerrrrrous, I suppose... but they are all well securrrred... I assure you. I apologise... if the noise... has disturrrbed your browsing. Please... continue," Xenon wheezes anxiously.

I don't know... this seems a bit crazy, even for Xenon... but then, what should we expect in a place like this? Probably no need to dwell on it, although I do feel we should speed our 'browsing' up a little. I smile at my companions, shrugging one shoulder in a reassuring sort of gesture, and after another moment of uncertain deliberation, Anders bends back down to the chest of magical trinkets. Fenris moves to crouch by Urchin as he continues searching frantically through the pile of scrolls, and begins to speak to him in low tones as the boy glances at him nervously, occasionally nodding or shaking his head silently in response to Fenris' gentle questioning. Making sure his employer is treating him well, I suppose. It's nice to see this side of Fenris. It comes out rarely enough.

"Can I be of any... assistance... Haaawke, Merrill?" The Antiquarian enquires raspily. "Are you searching for anything in particularrr?"

Merrill and I share a glance. "No, not really, messere," Merrill says quickly. "Although, if you have any elven tomes or scrolls, I wouldn't mind having a look through those?"

"Hmmmm... Perhaps in the foreign language shelf... behind the craaafting table..." Xenon says. "An old elven tome came into my possession some years ago... although I cannot... tell you anything of its contents, of course... I cannot read elvish."

"Thank you, messere," Merrill says, her eyes lighting hopefully, and she grasps my hand, pulling me excitedly over to the suggested shelf - which, naturally, just happens to be on a wooden ledge jutting out from the wall above the crafting table, at least a pace away from the edge of the platform, and a good three feet above our heads. Wonderful. I look around, but there doesn't seem to be any way of getting up there that I can see, no ramp or stairs, or anything... a fact that apparently does not concern Merrill in the least, as I turn back to find her already halfway up the wall, clambering nimbly up a thick system of exposed roots poking out from the dark earth of the hollow cliff wall, using it as an improvised ladder, of sorts. She pulls herself easily onto the wooden walkway as I watch her, frozen, with my heart in my mouth and my blood roaring in my ears, and then she rises gracefully and turns to look down at me, dusting herself off in a very unconcerned manner.

"Come on, Hawke!" she calls brightly. "What are you waiting for?" She turns away to study the bookshelf before her as I force my mouth to close and peer doubtfully over the side of the platform at the sheer drop below, so dark that it is impossible to tell whether it's a drop of a few dozen feet or a few hundred. Given my luck, I'd wager it's the latter. _Bloody flames_. I grit my teeth, climb determinedly over the railing, and start making my way up after her, trying to follow the path of roots she used and hoping desperately that they will hold my weight, aware every moment of the dizzying blackness below ready to swallow me whole the instant I lose my grip. After a few agonising moments I hoist myself up onto the ledge where Merrill is already absorbed in her examination of the contents of the shelf and stand carefully, gripping a wooden support strut extending out from the wall for balance as I look at her, trying to slow my racing heart. She turns to flash me a quick, sweet smile and then returns her eager gaze to the dusty scrolls and tomes, many cracked and worn with age, inspecting each in turn as I watch her carefully, making certain she doesn't step too far back and fall into the yawning chasm mere inches behind us. There isn't really a whole lot else I can do, right now; I wouldn't recognise any of these scripts, let alone identify elvish. I do hope she finds something useful, particularly considering the effort it took to get up here. I shift edgily, suddenly struck again with the compelling feeling that we shouldn't stay much longer, though I can't think what could have provoked it, precisely. Perhaps the insanely arranged merchandise is a conrtibuting factor. Why in the bloody Void would Xenon have his shop set up so that his customers have to risk death just to access half his inventory? It just doesn't seem like a sensible or lucrative business arrangement, although I suppose it's no less crazy than keeping an assortment of dangerous creatures locked up together beneath his customers' feet, or... anything else in this mad shop, come to think of it.

Merrill suddenly gives an excited little gasp and crouches down, reaching for a very old, very battered book bound in black leather and stamped with twining elegant writing in silver gilt. "Oh, Hawke, look at this!" She stands, holding the ancient manuscript carefully in both hands. "This is... very, very old," she says breathlessly, opening the thick tome carefully and squinting at the faded writing on the yellowing vellum pages within. "The dialect is _ancient_, and the writing is a bit strange... but it's elven, for certain. This..." she trails off, staring at the book in her hands in wonder. "This could be a relic from the time of Arlathan!"

Well. That was quick... and lucky. I suppose we're due a bit of improbable good fortune every now and then. "What's the book about? Can it help with the mirror?" I ask her.

She shakes her head a little, though her excitement doesn't seem at all diminished. "I don't know yet... this dialect is very old, and the script... it's so different from what I'm used to, I can't really read it properly." She looks at the writing on the cover carefully. "Um... Vallas... Vallas'en Enansal... Writings of the Gift... that could mean magic, I suppose. It might have something helpful, I don't know, I will have to study this. It could take a while. But even if it has nothing we can use, it could still contain other valuable knowledge, or stories, or rituals... oh, Hawke, this is still an amazing find!"

She hugs the book to her chest delightedly, looking so adorably thrilled that I can't refrain from wrapping my arm about her waist and drawing her carefully against me, keeping my other hand clenched firmly around the support beam as I plant a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

"That's wonderful, love," I tell her, smiling. She beams up at me, eyes shining, and I grin back even wider, sharing in her happiness.

"Aaaaaaahhhh!" Xenon's booming, raspy voice suddenly echoes around us, bouncing exuberantly from the walls and ceiling. "What do we haaaave here? Younnnng love? How... mmmmm... _maarrrrvellous_..."

"Wait, what?" comes Anders' startled voice from behind us, and we turn to look down at him, finding him rising quickly as he stares at us, the chest he was investigating lying open and abandoned at his feet. "You mean... are you two..." His eyebrows almost disappear into his fine blond hair as his gaze drops to where my arm is curled around Merrill, and then he looks back up, his eyes flicking between us. "When did this happen?" he demands, his face blank with shock, his tone filled with baffled surprise.

He turns abruptly to Fenris, still crouching by Urchin, now about halfway through the pile of unsorted scrolls. "Did you know about this?"

Fenris glances at him over his shoulder and nods after a moment, very grudgingly, a muscle leaping in his throat. Annoyed that Anders is addressing him, I suppose. "Everyone knows, mage," he drawls.

Anders shakes his head, still looking disconcerted. "I'm always the last to know everything," he growls. "You'd think someone might have mentioned it to me. Isabela, for instance. I spend half my time curing her of one vile disease or another."

"Perhaps she simply didn't wish to speak to you. I can sympathise," Fenris mutters, shooting a filthy look at Anders, who returns it with interest before proceeding to ignore him.

"Considering what she came to me with last time, she _was_ likely a bit preoccupied, I suppose. That was quite nasty," Anders says wryly, half to himself. He stares at us for a moment more, and then his face finally breaks into a small, forced grin that doesn't reach his eyes. He shakes his head in a bemused sort of way as he turns from us. "Well. I certainly can't say I would have ever expected this. I... wish you both joy, then."

I glance at Merrill as she looks up at me in the same moment, her puzzled expression showing she is at as much of a loss to explain his odd reaction to our relationship as I am. He really didn't know? I thought for sure Isabela would have wasted no time in spreading such a juicy piece of gossip about to everyone of her acquaintance. Not that she would have had much time since this morning, of course, but she knew about our feelings before that. Perhaps I ought to give her more credit for her discretion. Or since it does appear she only missed out Anders, perhaps it did simply slip her mind in lieu of the more... pressing matters for which she generally comes to see him. Although... I study Anders from the corner of my eye for a moment, now apparently deeply absorbed in examining a statue of an unusually scantily clad Andraste. His reaction just now was something less than pleased, just like Fenris. I suppose I wouldn't expect either of them to be thrilled, considering their respective opinions of Merrill, but I would have thought Anders might have been_ slightly_ less obvious about it. Well... it doesn't matter. I turn back to Merrill, meeting her worried gaze with a shrug and a loving smile. _Don't worry about them, love. _I follow my silent reassurance with a gentle, tender kiss - just a small one - which she returns eagerly, both of us thoroughly unconcerned that we are very much on display, given our current vantage point. Well, they're both going to have to get used to it, whatever they may think of Merrill, or whatever they think of her with me.

"Ahh! Founnnnd something... of interest, have you, my deaarrr?" Xenon wheezes suddenly. Merrill turns to look at him and nods, her fingers stroking absently against the battered leather cover of the old tome, and the Antiquarian's voice takes on an eager edge. "Excellent, _excellent_..." I get the distinct impression that he would be rubbing his hands together gleefully if he could. "Urchin! Stop dithering about dowwwwn there... and wrap up Miss Merrill's selection. Caaaarefully!" he growls as the boy hurries over to us, reaching up with trembling fingers to take the book from Merrill, who very reluctantly consents to hand the precious item to him over the terrible gap between them. All three of us let out relieved breaths as Urchin places the book safely on the crafting table, and then Merrill and I climb carefully back onto the platform as the boy tenderly wraps the book in a soft white cloth and ties it into a secure little bundle. He presents it to Merrill with a little bow, and she takes it from him carefully, giving him a gentle smile of thanks, which he returns shyly. I'm so glad this trip seems to have been profitable, at least a little. I think it might be a good idea to leave now, though; before it's time for Urchin to give his master his hourly 'bath' to keep his dry, cracking flesh from becoming completely desiccated. I shudder involuntarily at the thought. Maker, I really don't want to be here for that.

Not again.

"Well done, Urchin... goooood lad..." Xenon chuckles. "Now... hurrrrry up and find that scroll... I am certain... you will find it useful, my boy..." Xenon says, apparently addressing Fenris now. "It contaaains... _quite_ detailed descriptions of the old magistersss... experriments. You can read Arcanum... I assume?"

"I... that... that isn't really... why I came here," Fenris says evasively, glancing at the pile of scrolls.

"Ohhhhh?" Xenon inquires. "Then please... tell me what you... desire..."

Fenris looks uncomfortable, apparently casting about for something he could reasonably claim to want. "I would... be interested in finding a way to mask myself from detection," he says after a moment, his tone hesitantly cautious. He raises his arms again for emphasis. "The lyrium in my scars remains visible even when covered; I cannot hide them. Such distinctive markings allow me to be easily tracked by... certain people. I wish to thwart their efforts, if possible. If you had something that might help me to do so..."

Well... it didn't take him too long to come up with that, did it? Perhaps he did have an alterior motive for coming here, after all. Other than to protect us from the perils of magically undead, paralysed shopkeepers, I mean. I wonder why he didn't simply say so earlier, or ask for my assistance before this? Probably so he could avoid admitting he might desire a mage's help, I suppose.

"Hmm..." Xenon muses, sounding somewhat dispirited. "That is... quite difffffferent... I don't know that I can... although... aaaah!" His voice brightens excitedly. "I believe I have something that maaaay help... Urchin! The... exxxperimental dammmpening potionnn!" Urchin leaps up from the scrolls and dashes around Xenon's chair to rifle through a crate beneath the crafting table.

"Dampening potion?" Fenris asks, watching the child from the corner of his eye.

"Like maaagebane, but much... more... potent." I shift uncomfortably, listening. Maker's breath, magebane. The second mention of that foul substance today. "I believe if you breathe in the vapours, the lyrrrium in your skin will lose its power for a time... I do not know how long, precisely..." Xenon informs Fenris. "Perhaps the marrrrkings will appear less... prominent, with their power dulled."

Fenris glances thoughtfully at his markings. "I am willing to try it."

"Verrrry well," the Antiquarian chuckles. "Be warned, however. Even if it does not hide... your marrrkings... you will not be able to use your magic... while the potion is active, you know."

"I am no mage!" Fenris growls. "Do not refer to this magic as mine, I did not want these filthy markings."

"Yet... you rely on the... abilities they give you... do you not? They are surely... useful... to you..."

Fenris appears momentarily at a loss for words, but he is spared from replying as Urchin suddenly turns from the crate and dashes back over to him, clutching a large glass flask containing a swirling blood red liquid in his hands. More potent than magebane? I glance at it dubiously; I've never heard of such a potion. If Xenon is suggesting it, then it probably isn't too dangerous, although I'm not sure that simply dulling the power of the lyrium in Fenris's markings will make them any less noticeable, even without the whole blue glowing thing. But the decision is his. There's probably no harm in trying, anyway.

"Do you still wish... to attempt it?" Xenon asks.

"I..." Fenris hesitates just for a moment, and then nods decisively. "Yes."

"Open the flask for the cusssstomerrr, then, boy. Let him breathe the fumes. We shall see if the marrrrkings fade... as a result... just a sniff, miiiind!" he says loudly as Urchin begins to work the stopper out of the flask. "The potion will be very strong, after so long... Careful, boy! Don't drop it!" Xenon barks suddenly, making Urchin jump in fright, the flask promptly slipping from his fingers and smashing into pieces at Fenris' feet. "Oh... deaarrr..."

The spilled potion starts to bubble the instant it makes contact with the damp, stale air, hissing ominously as a dark rust-coloured mist billows swiftly up around us, enveloping us all in a thick, heavy cloud, and suddenly I can't see a thing. I can feel Merrill's warmth beside me and I reach for her, pulling her tight against me to make sure she won't lose her footing and fall into the abyss below. I open my mouth to ask if everyone else is alright - and find I can't draw breath as the thick cloud forces its way down my throat, choking me. Maker, what _is _this? I gasp desperately for air, hearing Anders choke out a vicious curse somewhere in front of us as Fenris coughs too, and Merrill lets out a distressed whimper. I clap my hand ineffectively over my mouth as Merrill drags her scarf up over hers.

"X-Xenon!" I choke at last, my voice hardly above a strained rasp. "What-"

"Oh, deaaarrrr, this_ is_... unexpected..." the Antiquarian murmurs half to himself, half in response to my words, apparently at a loss for how to respond to such an unanticipated turn of events. It's getting more difficult to breathe, there's nowhere to go to escape the suffocating crimson cloud. I can't see anything... _Bloody flames, do something, you useless old bag of desiccated flesh!_ "Do not... panic," Xenon calls loudly over the sounds of our coughing and choking. "The potionnnn... should dissipate... momentarrrrily..."

The mist begins to thin even as he speaks, and for a few moments the only sounds are our deep, heavy breaths as we gratefully gasp in air. At last the final vestiges of the potion vanish, and I glance down at Merrill worriedly, finding her already gazing up at me with a matching look of concern. We exchange relieved, reassuring smiles, and then I cast my gaze briefly around the shop and see Anders bracing himself against the platform railing, while Fenris shakes his head as though to clear it. A shamefaced Urchin is already crouched by the shattered flask, grasping the bottom of his shirt in one hand and holding it out as he carefully places the broken pieces one by one into his improvised dustpan. Everyone seems to be alright, then, more or less.

"Well, that was unpleasant," Anders croaks, rubbing ruefully at his throat.

"Myyyy apologies..." Xenon says, his slow tone remorseful. "I do hope you can forgive... Urrrchin's... clumsiness..." The boy hangs his head even lower, his cheeks burning.

"It was not _his _fault," Fenris mutters quietly, rubbing absently at his arm; the pale, twining lines of his markings still standing starkly out from his skin. Looks like the potion was ineffective, then. A shame.

My throat still is burning painfully from breathing that bloody cloud. I reach for my mana, just a little creation magic to ease the discomfort... and feel nothing. I gasp in shock, reaching again, but again find nothing, touch nothing, as though feeling blindly in the dark for a shadow. There's... there's nothing there! My magic is gone... not just drained, or blocked, even, just _gone!_

As though it was never there...

_Like magebane... but more potent... anyone who breathes it... oh, bloody Maker..._

"Ma vhenan, what's wrong?" Merrill asks worriedly, looking up at me.

I stare back at her, trying not to panic. "My magic... it's... gone. I can't feel it at all." I glance between her and Anders. "Can you?"

They both frown simultaneously in concentration for a moment. "Elgar'nan..." Merrill whispers. "No... there's just a sort of... emptiness... oh, Mythal, I don't feel right at all..."

"Maker... this is just how it feels to be drained by a Templar," Anders says weakly. "Worse, even. What _was_ that?"

"Ohhh... deaarrr..." the old man mutters again, more quietly, and I turn to him quickly.

"Xenon? What is going on? What in the Void was that potion? You said it dampens magical abilities..."

"It was created in the Storrrrm Age... during an attempt to find an alternative to the Tranquillity Ritual, I believe... It was unsuccessful, as the exxxperrriments produced no_ permanent_ effects... which displeased the Templars, who orrrdered the attempt abannndoned..." Xenon explains apologetically. "That potionnn... was a _near_... perfect... batch of the exxperriment. According to the scrrrrolls found with it, any livinnnng beinnnng... in possession of magical abilities who comes into connnntact with this connnncoction... is rendered powerless, for a time. It represses mana regeneration, and cancels the magical powerrrrr of lyrrriummm... for as long as it remains... active."

"So it would seem," Fenris drawls dryly, gazing at his plainly visible markings. "I can no longer feel the lyrium... although the markings still remain."

He can't feel them either? He doesn't seem too concerned, though... but then, he is a weapon in himself, a living blade. His lyrium-granted abilities are only secondary; losing them hardly leaves him defenceless, does it? The rest of us, though... I breathe deeply, trying to quell my mounting fear. It's not permanent, Xenon said it would wear off... it's going to be alright. It is.

_Just... just stay calm..._

"Aaahhh..." Xenon says, sounding disappointed. "Well, that is unfortunate... I am sorry I could not help you, my boy. Ah, well... nothing venturrred, nothing gained... no harm done..."

"No harm?" Anders splutters, gesturing pointedly at Merrill and I, then himself. "What about us? How long is this blighted 'dampening potion' going to remain 'active'?"

"Nooo neeed... to be concerrrned, Warden..." Xenon wheezes, the fretful tone in his raspy voice making his assurances somewhat unconvincing. "It will wear off... eventually..."

"When?" I demand, perhaps a little more forcefully than I meant, but, well... I just... I can't _stand _feeling drained like this. I haven't felt this powerless, this... vulnerable... in a long time, not since... since before I stopped working for Meeran... I shake my head quickly before I finish the thought. _Calm. It will be alright._ "How soon?"

"Alaaassss... I don't know... I have never seen so much potionnnn used at once... it may take several houurrrrsss..."

I hear Anders groan as Merrill makes a small, anxious sound, and I feel my anxiety mounting. I can't wait that long. I can't stand this emptiness, this... helplessness. Merrill takes my hand, squeezing tight, partly in reassurance and partly seeking comfort from me. I squeeze back, trying to smile for her, and take a breath; attempting once more to calm myself before I turn back to stare up at Xenon.

"Isn't there anything you can do?" I ask trying not to sound too desperately panicked. "You must have some lyrium potions." If only I'd brought some with me, though I hardly thought I'd need them just to come here; it's too suspicious a substance for anyone but Templars to carry about unless absolutely necessary. And if Anders or Merrill had any they'd have said so, surely.

_Keep calm..._

"They would not... worrrrk..." Xenon wheezes remorsefully. "The potionnn... would nullify the magic... the instant you drank it. I fear you must wait... until it wears off completely..."

Right. Of course. I exhale in frustration, unwilling to give up quite so easily as that on just his say-so. I am not at all satisfied to simply 'wait and see' if the potion wears off as he promises. He doesn't really seem to be certain of anything he knows about it; what if it doesn't? I shake my head again to stop the thought in its tracks; no point thinking like that, it won't help. There must be something else we can do. "Well, we have to try something. I can't stand feeling like this."

"Perhaps there's something at my clinic we could try," Anders suggests. "If nothing else, I have a good stock of restoration potions."

I nod, rubbing at the back of my neck. I hadn't considered that. A restoration potion might be strong enough to work, if we drink enough. And it doesn't use lyrium, just herbs and roots; certainly worth a try, in any case. "That seems our best option. And if we're very lucky, we might only run into a couple of street gangs on our way there."

"Traversing Darktown hardly seems the safest course of action, if you are unable to defend yourselves," Fenris comments dryly, looking at Anders.

I glance at him. "True, but surely a few dozen thugs would hardly cause you to break a sweat, even without your abilities." He turns to look at me, staring for a moment, and I raise my eyebrows a little. "You.. wouldn't mind helping us, would you? I just thought-"

"Of course I will defend you, Hawke," he says hurriedly, his eyes sincere as he gazes at me. "My blade is always yours."

I give him a small smile; the best I can summon at the moment. "Thank you, Fenris. Right, well what in the Void are we still hanging about down here for, then?" I turn and glare up at Xenon in intense irritation for a moment, then begin walking with Merrill towards the walkway, still grasping her hand in mine as she cradles her tome carefully in her other arm. I motion to Anders and Fenris to follow us. If there's nothing this madman can do, then I think I've had my fill of this place for the moment, exciting as our little venture has been so far. What a disaster. Whose brilliant idea was it to come down here, anyway? At least Merrill found something that might be useful, at least, once our magic returns. Maker's breath, it had better, and soon. Very, very soon.

"I think we'll be going now, then, Xenon." I slap a few sovereigns down on the bench beside the impassive stone golem as we pass him. That ought to be enough to cover Merrill's book, and if it's not, well, I rather think we're entitled to a discount after this. "See you next time, should I take a severe blow to the head and decide it's a good idea to chance coming again-"

"Wait!" Xenon rasps anxiously. "I cannot let you leave... knowing you will be in dangerrrr. Please, I believe I can assist you. I may have jussst... the thing..." he wheezes, an odd, wheedling note of cunning in his voice. "A very strong potion..."

I pause, glancing back at him. "Another potion? What is it? A restoration potion?" Why didn't he offer it before, as soon as Anders suggested it?

"Mmmm... I am certain it will help you feel restored... far more quickly," Xenon says, a trifle evasively. "I do not wish you... to leave my store defenceless... I would feel terrible if I were to lose my favourrrite... customerrrrs..."

I narrow my eyes distrustfully at his crafty tone. Oh, I bet he would; feel terrible about the loss of coin, that is. And he'd better not try to make us pay for this potion, if that's what he's thinking... but then, if he has something that works, I'd much rather get this all fixed up now than risk going back up to Darktown and leaving Fenris to defend all four of us himself. Not that we can't fight with staves - and belt knives - at close quarters, but even so...

I nod, turning back to Xenon. "Alright, then," I say cautiously. "I suppose it's worth a try."

"Urchin!" The boy pauses and looks up at his master. "A dose of my _special_ potion for each of our cussstomerrrsss, to help restorrrre them... Free of charge, of course..." Urchin lets go of his shirt hem and springs to his feet, hurrying once again to the crafting table and scattering razor sharp shards of broken glass across the floor as he goes. "No, no... the green potion..." Xenon mutters as Urchin reaches for a flask of crimson liquid. Urchin twists his head to look towards his master with an air of confusion, a questioning look on his face. "Of course I am surrrre!" Xenon barks gruffly, as though answering a spoken query. "Don't question me! The green potion! Fetch it!"

Urchin obeys instantly, although his look of confusion deepens as he pours the potion into four small beakers. I watch him, feeling slightly unsettled by the exchange. I've never seen a green restoration potion; the ones I order from Elegant are always dark crimson. I glance at Merrill and then at Anders, noting similar suspicious looks on their faces. Ander raises an eyebrow, and I shrug in return. Well... I have found several unusual potions amongst his wares before, and besides, I suppose it's rather arrogant to assume I know everything about potion crafting. I'm sure this is simply some sort of stronger recipe I haven't come across yet.

"It is a very special mixture... very... effective..." Xenon says reassuringly, apparently in response to our silent exchange, as Urchin picks his way back through the broken glass to hand each of us a beaker of bright green liquid. "It will make... the time until your powers returrrrrn... pass much more quickly... I assure you..."

"I believe I shall pass," Fenris says. "I would not mind waiting longer for the lyrium in my skin to awaken again; I shall enjoy the peace in the meantime."

"Oh, but please, I would... feeeel... much better... knowing that I did what I could to correct... Urchin's mistake..." Xenon wheedles insistently. "It would make the boy much happier toooo... isn't that right, Urchin?"

Urchin looks up at Fenris worriedly at Xenon's words, and Fenris glances at him, a look of mild concern on his face. "Very well," he says gently, taking the glass offered by the small boy, who gives him a gap-toothed smile.

I raise the beaker to my nose, sniffing carefully, still wary of the highly suspicious green colour of the potion. Elfroot, spindleweed... as one would expect, but also... something else... I can't put my finger on it...

Anders drains his beaker in apparent unconcern, however, which alleviates my suspicions slightly. If there were anything off about it, surely he would have picked it up, right? I hesitate for just a moment longer and then down the potion, Merrill and Fenris following suit.

"Ugh! This tastes terrible!" Merrill exclaims, her face screwing up in distaste. "What's in this, nightshade?"

"Oh, just... a touch..." Xenon says, as though poison was a common ingredient in a remedy.

For a moment I can only stare at him in shocked silence, hardly believing my own ears."What?" I whisper. Nightshade... Maker, how did I not notice... How did _Anders_ not notice?

"Don't... fret... my deaarrr..." Xenon chuckles wheezily. "Only enough... for a dreeeaaaamless sleeeeep..."

_Maker's breath, why?_

"You're... putting us... to... to sleep?" Anders says thickly, blinking his eyes rapidly as though trying to keep them open. I feel my own lids growing heavy... "Nightshade..." Anders mutters sleepily "How did I miss..." He drops to his knees and then crumples, breathing deeply.

How _could_ I bloody miss it... how could he...? There's a bitter taste at the back of my throat... _Maker..._ Nightshade, not enough for poison, but... for a powerful sleeping potion, yes... but _why?_

"What game is this? What are you...?" Fenris tries to snarl, even as his mouth twists into a yawn... I'd find it funny, if I wasn't so... so tired, suddenly... Fenris folds slowly, lowering himself to the floor... his movements controlled and graceful, even now...

"Now, now... Just relax... drift into peaceful... slumber..." Xenon's slow voice rumbles through my mind... his ponderous drone almost soporific... hypnotic... "I am oooonnnly helping you, as I promised. I cannot let my cusstomerrrs come to harrrm... The hours will seeem to paaass in moments... much better than the anxiety... of waitinnng... don't you agree? I am sure that the daaammpening potion... will have worn off completely by the time you awaken... just rest, now, my dearrrs... _sleep_... I take gooooood care of all my cussstomerrrsss..."

This... this is what he meant? This is... helping? Bloody... mad... decrepit old... old...

_So... tired..._

"Thaddeus! Take our deaarrr customerrrs somewhere safe, to rest... until their powers are recovered... I believe there arrrre some free cells in the ruins... they should be comfortable there... although do try not to house them too neaaarrrr... the carrrnivores... I don't want the smell of fresssh, living blood to excite them... before feeeeeding time..." He chuckles, almost fondly. "The big ones are so eaaasily... excited..."

What? What is he... talking... It's so hard... so hard to think... I feel so... dizzy, and dull... sleepy...

Merrill moans softly... I turn to look at her slowly... "Keeper Marethari, is... is that you?" she murmurs, blinking dazedly at the naked Andraste statue... her is voice quiet, slurred... "I don't feel so good..." She sways alarmingly where she stands... concern stirs lazily in the back of my mind, somewhere... the elven tome tumbles from her hands, dropping to the floor with a soft thud... she sways again... just a bit too far forwards... I reach out and catch her as she falls into my arms... following her down, slumping against the bench by the golem... she cuddles into my chest, breathing deeply... curled in a ball like the kitten Isabela named her... so warm and soft... so sweet...

I let my head loll back against the cool... cool smooth stone of the bench I'm leaning against. Merrill sighs... her head resting on my shoulder, her face pressed into the hollow of my throat... This... this isn't... so bad, really... Why was I worried? Can't... remember...

Xenon's low chuckle pierces my clouded mind... just... just for a moment... "No, no, my boy, they will be quite safe. Yes, of couuuurrrrse I promise. They are loooyyalll... cussstomerrrsss..." He's...talking to... to Urchin? About... us... I blink slowly, trying... trying to concentrate... might be... important...

"I am not angrrrry at you, don't fret. Your little accident was... most fortuitous. Their blood is fresh, potent... powerful... They are the ones I need. Let us not waste this opportunity... Take what I need, ooonly from the females, there's a good lad... Not too much, now. We don't wissssh to harrrm them. Gently... don't wake them... let them sleep... Most fortuitous indeed..." He breaks off with an odd... odd chuckle... gleeful and... strangely... sinister. What he needs... from us... what... what does he...mean? What does he... he need...

There are... light footsteps... coming toward me, now... a small figure appearing in my blurring vision... sharp pain lancing through my hand... Merrill gasps softly in her sleep... the floorboards shake beneath me as slower, heavier footsteps boom... coming closer... my arms close tighter about Merrill as a huge, black shadow emerges... looming over us... glowing eyes piercing... it reaches for us as my vision wavers... Merrill's limp form is pulled from my weak grasp... _no!_... but I can't hold onto her... I can't move... can't... see... just blackness... shadows... darkness... sinking down... rough stone fingers take hold of me too... lifting me as I fall further... into the dark...

... but it's not so bad...

... it's quite... peaceful... quite...


	17. Chapter 17

_I hope you've been able to bear with me through this 'quest'. Again, I promise it is going somewhere further down the line. And I am trying to do Anders and Fenris justice, but admittedly I am not quite as interested in either of them as I am the more heavily featured characters in this story. I thought they deserved a bit of page-time, though, particularly to give Merrill and Hawke the opportunity to say a few things to them both that I always want them to say in-game. I may have also added a not-strictly canon element or two... well, you'll see._

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><p>xxx H xxx<p>

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><p>Someone is shaking me...<p>

"Hawke... wake up..."

Wake... was I asleep? But... I wasn't in the Fade... it was dark... but there's a light, now... dim... prying its way past my lashes... the air is musty... stale...

"Hawke, can you hear me?"

Cold, hard stone beneath me, and a pounding in my ears...

"Hawke, come on, wake up!"

My eyes snap open and I blink in the dull half light from the sputtering torches on the wall, suddenly registering a presence beside me, a dark shadow in my slowly focusing vision.

"At last," the figure says, the relief in his voice almost palpable, and I squint as his wavering form gradually resolves itself.

"Anders?" I sit up slowly, taking a deep breath - then immediately clap my hand over my mouth and nose. "Maker's breath, that _smell!_ Where are we?"

Anders shrugs a little, sitting back on his heels. "Your guess is as good as mine; I have no idea how we got here. The last thing I remember is passing out..." He puts a hand to his forehead, grimacing. "He drugged us," he growls. "With nightshade. I can't believe I didn't pick that up. We're locked in, too, I tried the door already. What in the Void is that wheezy old carcass playing at?"

Nightshade... bloody Xenon. I groan as it all comes flooding back. "He... seemed to think he was doing us... a favour," I remember, my mouth twisting a little in scornful irritation. "To stop us worrying about when the potion would wear off by... putting us to sleep so we didn't have to wait, or so we wouldn't risk ourselves getting through Darktown, or some absurd excuse like that..." I struggle to remember through my fogged, clouded mind. "Xenon told his golem to put us in the cells until we woke, to make certain we were safe, and collect us later... and..." I think very hard, I'm certain there was something... something else he said, something...worrying... but the memory slips from my grasp. Well, it can't have been anything too important, then, can it? "That's all I remember."

"Cells, is it? Well, that certainly fits," Anders says, crouching back on his heels. "We must be in those ruins Xenon mentioned, beneath his shop. In the dungeons, perhaps." His eyes grow hard. "Or slave quarters. An interesting idea of a safe place to recuperate, but then..." He glances about, a faint look of disgust marring his features. "This was probably the only place he could think to put us. I suppose being locked in a cell vaguely qualifies as being made 'safe'." A weary sigh escapes him as he turns his wry gaze on me "Once we're out of here, remind me not to accompany you on any more shopping trips, won't you?"

"You asked to come," I remind him absently, rubbing my aching temples. "You know you travel with me at the risk of encountering ridiculous disasters." I look about the cell, taking in our situation. We are in a tiny, dirty stone room; a cell comprised of cold, rough hewn stone blocks, the rusted remains of manacles hanging from iron spikes imbedded deeply in the damp, stained walls. What little light there is shines through a small metal grate set into the door at eye level, from a single sputtering torch mounted on the wall of the corridor beyond. One corner is piled with a thick cushion of rather mouldy straw, but that's it. There is nothing else in the cell, apart from us...

Us... Me, and Anders, and... that's all... but where's... where's Merrill? Maker, where is she?

My head is suddenly as clear as though I plunged it into an icy mountain stream, and I struggle to my feet, casting my gaze desperately into every corner of the tiny cell as though I could possibly have overlooked her.

"Merrill... where's Merrill?"

Anders stands with me, placing his hands on my shoulders, looking alarmed at my behaviour. "I don't know. Hawke, listen!" he says loudly as I instinctively try to pull away, my heart writhing with irrational terror. "Calm down. Think about it. If we're alright, then chances are she's safe too. These cells are far too small for four people," he continues, and I make an effort to stop panicking, holding myself still. "If that golem brought us here like you think, then it probably put her in with Fenris."

_Oh, Maker..._

"Is that supposed to be in any way comforting?" I ask, but it's not a joke; the slight quaver in my voice betraying my frantic anxiety. Oh, Andraste, what if-

"You don't really think he would hurt her, do you?" Anders interrupts my panicked thoughts, frowning. "I mean, I know he's a surly bastard, and he hates mages and all - blood mages especially," he adds with a pointedly disapproving note in his voice, which I ignore. "But he has far too much respect for you to harm anyone you care for. Anyway, the way things are at the moment, it isn't as though he can crush her heart, or anything."

As comforting as I'm certain he probably meant those words to be, I can't help but flinch at the image they put in my head. I run my hand anxiously through my hair, staring at the door, resisting the foolish urge to throw myself at it; I'm certain all that would gain me is a bruised or broken shoulder. "I don't think he would hurt her intentionally... but if she wakes first, and tries to rouse him, and he thinks he's under attack before he's fully conscious... even without lyrium markings, his reflexes are faster than lightning-"

"Hawke. Calm down. I'm sure he has more control than that," Anders says softly. "And despite how he feels about mages - and Merrill in particular - I think he is an... honourable sort," he reassures me, sounding as though saying such a complimentary thing about Fenris is about as comfortable as having all his teeth pulled at once. "As far as you're concerned, he has the loyalty of a dog," he continues, evidently feeling the need to make up for his genuine compliment with a backhanded one. "I doubt he'd do anything to risk losing the protection you represent."

No. Fenris won't hurt her, I should know that... but what if... no. I shouldn't think such ungenerous thoughts about him. I'm sure they'll be fine, trapped together in a small, confined space, under odd and somewhat incomprehensible and distressing circumstances... I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Panicking isn't likely to be of much help either, after all. _Maker, Andraste, Creators, whoever, just... just keep her safe until I get to her. I mean it. And I'm not asking._

_Don't make me come up there..._

I raise my left hand to rub at my neck in agitation, and then pause, suddenly noticing the rough, blood-stained bandage tied tightly around my palm. I peer at it in confusion. "What...?"

"You had a cut on your hand," Anders explains, and I turn to look at him. _When did I get that?_ "I always keep some bandages and poultices in my belt pouch for minor injuries. I may not be able to heal it, but I did what I could. I could kick myself for not bringing any mana-restoratives, though."

"It probably wouldn't have helped. We'd need to drink a lot more than we could carry to overcome this potion, I think..." I reply absently, still staring at my hand. Perhaps I cut it on a shard of the broken flask when I fell? Well, it doesn't matter, right now. The fact that Anders wasn't able to heal it recalls me to our far more pressing problem. "You still can't feel your magic either, then?" I ask, even as I unsuccessfully reach once again for my own mana, my stomach lurching unpleasantly as I feel that awful sensation of nothingness, like missing a step in the dark.

"No, it's just... gone," Anders replies, sounding as lost as I feel. "I can't stand this feeling. It's like I'm back in the circle after a failed escape attempt, being kept drained as a punishment." He glances around the tiny, filthy cell. "Only the accommodations are nicer," he comments humourlessly, his mouth twisting, and then he looks back at me with worried eyes. "He did say the potion would wear off, right?"

"Yes. He just didn't know when, although he seemed to think that it would only take... however long we've been asleep for, so far. Perhaps we woke up too early. I'm sure it will wear off soon," I tell him, although without a great deal of conviction.

Anders appears to share my doubts. "It's just... from what he said, I gathered that he'd been hanging onto that potion for centuries... and that he didn't know a great deal about its power. He said it was strong, but... some magic only strengthens with age. What if it doesn't wear off as quickly as he thinks? Or, Maker forbid, at all?"

"It might also have lost some of its strength over time. Could be that it will wear off quicker than it was meant to," I counter, trying to sound more reassuring this time. Although it doesn't really seem like it's much of a possibility, considering the suffocating strength of it when Urchin broke the flask... and the fact that it must have been some hours, now, and I still can't feel so much as a trickle of mana inside me... If he's right...

I don't even want to think about that possibility. "There's no point worrying about it now, not until we get out of here," I decide grimly. Bloody flames, but I wish I'd never thought to come here. What a mess.

"You said Xenon was going to send his golem to get us, once he figured we'd be awake, right?"Anders asks.

I nod, feeling extremely exasperated. "I think so." I can't believe Xenon. I mean, I knew he was eccentric, and perhaps wasn't quite in his right mind, but... this whole situation is nothing short of nonsensical. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised; doubtless being trapped in a decaying, immobile body for three centuries would be enough to tip anyone over the edge. Though... simple insanity isn't really a particularly satisfying explanation for all this... Again, I feel that niggling feeling in the back of my head, like I'm forgetting something very important, something to shed light on our current, ludicrous predicament-

"I suppose we'll just have to wait for him, then," Anders says, shrugging. "Looks like we have a bit of time on our hands to talk." He narrows his eyes a little, suddenly scrutinising me closely. "So, then... you... and Merrill..." he begins, his voice shrewdly hesitant. "How long have you been... together?"

I look at him a little suspiciously. That's what he wants to talk about, right at this moment? My love life? "Only a few days... or hours, depending on how you look at it," I answer after a moment. I suppose there's hardly reason not to tell him. Admittedly, this is slightly uncomfortable territory, but... I won't hide what she is to me. "But I've loved her far longer than that."

Anders lifts his eyebrows. "Well. Either you've been extremely good at hiding your emotions - up til now, at least - or I am exceptionally poor at reading them," he comments wryly. "I had no idea you cared for her this much. Though I suppose it may go a long way to explain why you've kept her company for all these years, knowing what she is..."

_Oh, Maker's blood, not this again. _I know exactly where he is headed. I suppose I should have expected this when I saw his reaction back in the Emporium, but... I hoped he'd be convinced to drop it when he saw us together, saw how ineffective his other warnings about Merrill have been. More fool I, clearly.

I glare at him in annoyance, feeling extremely irritated. "Maker's breath, do you really want to do this now?"

Why, yes, apparently he does.

"I wasn't going to bring this up again after our last... talk," Anders begins, and I shake my head. _Argument bordering on shouting match, you mean. Andraste, just take the hint and let it go._ "And considering this new... development in your relationship, I'm sure my words will be lost on you. However, since we appear to be stuck here, we have some time... and you won't be able to storm away without hearing me out..."

I make a concerted effort to ignore him, hoping he won't continue, turning away and pressing up against the door, trying to see through the small grate. All I can see is a cell door opposite, illuminated by the sputtering torch.

"Merrill?" I call hopefully. "Fenris?" No answer. Perhaps they're still unconscious, or their cell is somewhere out of hearing-

"Hawke..." Anders says wearily, and I fall silent at his quiet but determined tone, glancing at him over my shoulder. He gazes back seriously, his eyes grim.

_Maker, here we go. _"Anders, don't. Don't bother."

"I can't just stand by while you're risking yourself like this. You know she uses blood magic," he says doggedly, and I exhale in frustration at his tired diatribe.

"That has nothing to do with how I feel about her-"

"Did you never think to ask where she learned it?" he interrupts suddenly, and I frown. This is a new tactic. "Surely it must have crossed your mind at least once these past three years." I open my mouth but he continues talking before I can say a word. "Unless the Dalish keep scrolls on the subject - which I doubt - there can only be one explanation. She looked a demon in the eye, and accepted his offer."

I turn and give him a level look, holding his gaze firmly. "I know that." I do now, anyway. But I see no reason to fill him in on every bit of withheld information on Merrill's part, or my own foolish doubts, which I have now completely overcome. I know she will be able to handle herself; especially if she has my support. Which she will, from now on. "And it changes nothing."

He looks taken aback. "But-"

I cut off his objection impatiently. "She isn't possessed, Anders." _Not like some people I could mention._ "She isn't dangerous to me, or to anyone else," I continue, determined to get through to him. He's not really in a position to judge her himself, after all, is he? "And she has never once used her blood magic to hurt an innocent. She doesn't even resort to it in self defence unless there's absolutely no other option for survival. Surely you must have noticed this?" He opens his mouth and then closes it slowly, looking away as he leans back against the wall. I can't really defend her further without explaining about the eluvian, and I don't think he knows about it yet, he seems rather behind the times. No doubt he'll find out eventually, but frankly, I could do without the headache of explaining it right now. I take a deep, calming breath, and look steadily at him until he meets my gaze again. "Look - this is neither the time, nor the place. Can we postpone this futile argument for a time when we aren't in a strange and potentially dangerous situation?"

He looks at me in silence for a moment, then gives a short sigh and a small, wry grin. "In other words, never?"

I manage to offer a smile in return at his quip. "That would work for me."

He sighs again, deeper. "Alright, I'll drop it. I'm sorry, but... I just worry about you."

"I know you do," I tell him. "But there's no reason to worry about me, or Merrill." He looks doubtful but doesn't press further, apparently content to leave the subject. Hopefully I managed to make myself clear. For now, at least. Though I imagine it might be a good idea to steer the conversation back to more immediate issues. If Xenon thought the potion would have worn off by the time we woke, and we've been awake for a while, shouldn't he have sent his golem for us? I chew my lip worriedly, looking at Anders. "How long has it been since you woke up?"

"A while, actually, before you started stirring," he answers. "I would have thought that Xenon would have had us out of here, by now. Do you think he's forgotten us?"

I shrug. I don't know, but... I think it's been too long already; I don't want to wait anymore, I want to find Merrill. "I don't have a great deal of faith in his lucidity at the best of times. If I ever had doubts that he was completely barking mad, they're long gone after this. We can't sit about hoping to be let out, anymore, though; we need to get out of here ourselves, find Merrill and Fenris, find the way out of here and go."

Anders nods determinedly. "Agreed."

I examine the door. It seems fairly sturdy, although the wood is quite moist in parts, and splintery in others...

"You're the resident escape artist. Do you think we could kick this down?" I ask.

Anders examines the door, running his fingers over the hinges. "No good. The wood isn't exactly in good condition, but it opens inwards. We might manage to kick it in eventually, but it would take quite a while, and we'd end up nursing several broken toes." He bends down to peer into the keyhole. "The lock is old, and quite simple. If I hadn't left my belt knife back in the clinic, I might be able to pick it," he says, glancing up at me. I raise my eyebrows at him in surprise, and he grins. "I'm no Isabela or Varric, but I had some... interesting friends in Vigil's Keep, back in Amaranthine. The Wardens take all sorts. I picked up a trick or two from some of them."

"Well, then," I tell him, unsheathing my own little blade and handing it over. "Let's see you perform one, then."

After a few minutes of poking around at the inside of the lock with the point of my knife, accompanied by some inventive cursing, Anders gives a quiet exclamation of triumph, grinning in self satisfaction as the door creaks open on rusty hinges. He hands the little blade back to me with a flourish, and I peer cautiously out into the gloomy tunnel beyond, blinking in mild surprise as I see our staves leaning against the opposite wall, the flickering light from the sputtering wall torches glinting along the long, sharp blades at the ends of them. I snatch mine up in relief as Anders reaches for his just as eagerly. Not that they'll be incredibly useful to us as we are now except as a melee weapon, at least, not unless... _until_... we get our powers back, but still... the familiar feel of the smooth, warm wood beneath my fingers is comforting nonetheless.

"How many animals do you suppose he has down here?" Anders wonders, peering into the dark cell opposite us. Bloody flames, I forgot about Xenon's 'rare and interesting' creatures. Great. "There's definitely something in there... I think it's a bronto."

"That would account for the smell," I comment, glancing down the passageway at the other closed cell doors. These cells must all be full of different unfortunate animals, all trapped down here in the dark. Poor beasts. I'm growing less fond of Xenon by the minute. "I imagine he has enough to fill every cell, unless they die, or he sells them. That's probably why Fenris and Merrill aren't near us; no free cells close by."

Anders turns back to look at me. "I would have thought they'd all be making a lot more racket than this. Why are they all being so quiet?"

As if on cue, a none-too-distant screeching roar suddenly shatters the air, reverberating from somewhere the corridor to our left; a sound identical to the cry we heard earlier, back in the shop. The bronto in the cell before us gives a low, frightened moan and falls silent again.

"Can't imagine," I say wryly. "Though I vote we don't go that way, for the moment. I suppose that might be what we needed to be kept 'safe' from... although I don't see why, if it's confined to a cell too, whatever it is." I feel a sudden, urgent sense of wrongness as the animal roars again, another mysterious warning, I suppose. Maker's steaming blood, what good is that to me now? Why do these feelings keep coming too bloody late to be useful? We're already in trouble, trapped down here. Another unearthly shriek assaults our ears, and the feeling returns again, stronger.

_All right, I get it, already. Don't go near the vocal mystery creature. Very helpful, thanks ever so much._

I look up and down the corridor, lined with identical wooden doors stretching as far as I can see in both directions. Maker save me, it could take forever to find her! Unless by some miracle, I happen to get lucky, and she and Fenris just a few cells away. Unlikely, considering they would certainly have heard us by now, unless...

No. If we're awake, and unharmed, then they are too. They must just be in a different part of the ruin. I start walking down the corridor, in the opposite direction to the hungry, ferocious-sounding beast. I suspect in all the commotion, 'feeding time' might have been forgotten altogether. Might be wise to get out of here before it decides to try and feed itself; I definitely recall Xenon saying something about the 'carnivorous creatures' growing excited by the smell of fresh blood... and I've never heard a herbivore make a noise like that.

I beckon to Anders. "Come on. We'll look through every door grate until we find them; they've got to be here somewhere. You take that side, I'll take this."

We walk slowly along the corridor, peering into each room, each occupied with very sorry looking creatures - nugs, deepstalkers, giant bloody spiders, even a dragonling or two - but no Merrill, no Fenris, and I feel my anxiety mounting with every door I try. Andraste, please, the next door... the next cell, please... come on, they have to be here somewhere...

Bloody, _bloody_ Xenon. See if I ever come here again. Oh, Maker, I hope they're alright together. Anders is right; Fenris won't hurt her, but... I doubt he'll be pleasant company, though. I hope he will at least try to be civil.

* * *

><p>xxx M xxx<p>

* * *

><p>"I don't want to hear another word out of you."<p>

"But I was just-"

"Not. One. Word."

I sigh, leaning back against the rough, cold stone of the cell wall, feeling very exasperated now. I am getting tired of bearing his scorn and derision, all the time. I really don't see what I've done to earn such ire from him. Yes, I'm a blood mage, but I've never done anything to harm him, have I? And I was only trying to help, just now. "Is it alright if I hum? Or maybe whistle?"

Fenris turns from his examination of the keyhole and gives me a _very_ cold look, almost as frosty as his ghostly, halla-pale hair. His lip curls in a dangerous sort of sneer. "Not if you wish to keep your tongue."

Alright, don't panic. I'm sure he didn't mean it, not really. Think positive, Merrill. So. You are locked in a filthy cell, deep beneath the city. Trapped with a very cross man who hates magic, loathes blood mages, and has a tendency towards violent outbursts. You don't have any mana. And you aren't with Hawke, and you have no idea where she is, or if she's even alright. But just... don't panic. She's probably with Anders; he won't let anything happen to her, certainly, and besides, it isn't all bad. I am feeling quite well rested now, after all. I'm also not likely to get rained on. And there's almost no chance of being attacked by bears. Fenris, maybe, but not bears.

Unless... unless Xenon has some in his collection, down here...

I shake my head at myself as I sit quietly in the corner by the door, arms wrapped tightly about my knees. That seems unlikely, really. Not that there might be bears down here, of course; all that roaring we heard in the distance just now could easily have been one, after all. It's just unlikely that any animals will manage to get out of their cells, since Fenris is having so much trouble, and he's certainly at least as smart as a bear. I hope Hawke is having better luck, wherever she is. Oh, I hope she's alright...

_Andruil, Great Huntress, protect my Hawke. Ghilan'nain, guide her to me._

Oh, Mythal, how did we end up in this mess? Why am I with him, and not with her?

I draw a deep breath to calm myself, trying to squash the panicky little voice in the back of my mind. We're not really in that much trouble, I don't think. I heard Xenon tell his golem to make sure we were safe, after all, right before I fell asleep, and I'm sure he doesn't mean to harm us. I can't see why he would, after all. Obviously this probably isn't really most people's idea of a comfortable or safe place to rest, but then, Xenon is a bit strange, isn't he? And I suppose he didn't really have anywhere else to put us, after all. I'm sure he did his best. And if Fenris and I are all right, relatively speaking, I'm sure Hawke is too. And Anders. And I'm certain I will be with Hawke again soon enough; if only we could get out of this cell, that is. I feel my irritation grow as I watch Fenris poke uselessly at the lock with the clawed tip of one if his gauntleted fingers. I bet he's wishing he could just ghost through it, like he normally would, using the magic under his skin. I think he can be as big of a hypocrite as Anders, sometimes.

"Do you actually know how to pick locks at all?" I ask after a few more fruitless moments of silence, unable to keep a hint of exasperation from my voice. I probably should be more careful not to provoke him, but I am starting to get very anxious, now. I want Hawke. I want to know she is safe. Anders, too, I suppose, but mostly I just want to find her, if I'm honest. I hope she's alright.

He jerks his hand irritably away from the keyhole and rises, thumping his fist against the door in irritation. "No," he drawls slowly, as though barely managing to restrain his temper while speaking to a very foolish child. "I do not. But I would rather try to improve on our present situation than to sit uselessly in a corner and do nothing."

My eyes narrow at the unfairness of the jibe; especially since he told me to sit here in the first place, after I broke off the blade of my knife in the lock trying to help him with the door, earlier. Which only happened because he pushed me away, after all, and besides, that's what _he_ normally does, isn't it? Squatting in that old mansion in the dark, never doing anything with his freedom apart from follow Hawke around and making comments about how horrible mages are to Anders and me when he thinks she won't hear, and being bitter about his old master-

I shiver suddenly; not from my anger, or the cold, even; but from another deep feeling of sadness and loss that suddenly washes over me. Almost as though in connection to the thought I had just now, about... about Fenris's master... the magister. This place... if it was once a magister's palace, then this... this must have been where the slaves were kept. There was such pain here... I'm sure if I could touch my magic that I would feel how thin the Veil is, but even completely drained I can feel it, on some level. Elves are very sensitive to such things, after all. Well, I know the Dalish are, anyway, even non-mages; I remember that Mahariel and Fenarel could feel the echoes of suffering too, when we ventured into that ruin to look for Tamlen, so long ago. From the strained look about Fenris's eyes, and the way his shoulders are bowed, I think he can sense it now, here in this place. Perhaps that is also why he seems more... agitated than usual.

"You feel it too, don't you," I say quietly, although I try very hard not to look or sound too pitying, or anything. He doesn't exactly respond well to that, I've found.

"What?" he says impatiently.

I glance about the small cell, at the rusted chains on the walls, the old, dark bloodstains on the floor just visible beneath the scattered straw. "There were slaves here, once, kept in these cells. Our ancestors. The stones remember their pain, their sorrow. You can feel it, can't you?"

"I can," he replies after a long moment, his voice dark, but almost... civil. That's certainly new. I was afraid he would be angry with me, thinking I was trying to offer him sympathy. He has made it quite clear he will not accept it. Not from me. Still, all this must be bringing back terrible memories for him...

"Your master must have been a terrible man, to make you hate mages so," I venture quietly after a moment.

Fenris blinks, and looks at me in surprise before he glances away, his mouth twisting. "He _is _a terrible man," he growls. "He's not dead."

"We're not all like him," I say softly, but he just shakes his head disdainfully at my words. Short-lived civility, then. Well, it was nice while it lasted, the whole ten seconds of it.

"How often I hear that, and yet, how often I find it's not true," he scoffs, and I breathe out sharply in irritation.

"When, though?" I ask, hearing an edge of frustrated anger come into my voice. Why do I keep trying? "Who do you mean, besides Tevinter mages? Anders, because of the spirit in his head? I've never seen him attacking anyone who didn't deserve it."

"Do not be so naive. He is an abomination, no matter what he says of his intentions," Fenris says dismissively, crouching back down to scratch uselessly at the lock again. "Sooner or later, he will lose his battle for control with that thing inside him, and we will all pay the price. And how many others of your kind have you seen fall prey to demons? Dozens by now, at least. It is only a matter of time before you succumb fully to yours."

So. He knows about the demon too, then? I suppose everyone does, by now. I swallow my anger, closing my eyes in a defeated sort of exasperation; it's pointless trying to argue with him about this, but...

"Have you ever seen me hurt anyone with blood magic?" I ask him quietly. "If you know about the demon, you must know about the eluvian by now, everyone must." Well, except Anders, perhaps. He doesn't exactly seem on top of things. "That is the only thing I needed blood magic for, and it is my blood, my sacrifice alone. For my people, _our_ people; not for myself. All I want is to restore a part of our heritage-"

"And you dealt with a demon in order to do so," Fenris snaps. He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, a sneer on his lips. "You can't even begin to imagine the number of mages that have walked down the path you're now on. It won't be long before you can justify using the blood of another to get what you need when your own strength is not enough. And it will become easier every time. That is the nature of blood magic. The nature of mages."

"That's not true!"

"No?" he growls, shooting a glare at me."I once saw Danarius kill a little boy to fuel blood magic that let him impress his fellow Senators at a party. They thought nothing of it. All of them blood mages."

He truly thinks I could be so monstrous? I bristle at him angrily; I have had enough! "All of them magisters! Not all mages are like that, whether or not you believe it." I don't know why I'm bothering; he will not listen to me. "You said yourself once that any magister who didn't do that sort of thing would be killed by his rivals, so they all do it. It's just part of that culture, now, but it is not like that here and it is not just... born into mages to do that sort of thing! The Keepers are different. They exist to preserve the old ways, and to protect our people."

"And none of them would ever fall prey to a demon. Or perform blood magic. If that were truly how far the Dalish are prepared go to preserve elvish history, then it would be far better to let it lie forgotten." He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. "But it is not what the Dalish do, is it? That is why your clan cast you out," he sneers, his mouth twisting cruelly. "Lie to yourself if you must, but I see through you. You have bartered your soul for the power all magisters crave, the power of blood. Repairing that foul relic is merely the excuse you give to yourself to justify it."

"It's impossible to talk to you!" I cry, frustrated. It's useless, but somehow I still can't let this go. And I have _not _sold my soul. "Not everyone with magic just automatically wants that sort of power, or uses it, any more than every maniac with a big sword on his shoulder wants to go round killing at random just because he can! What about Hawke, then? She would never be like the magisters, not even a tiny bit. You must see that, at least."

"No," he concedes after a moment, and that strange look is back in his eyes again; confused misery and longing. "She would not. She is... unlike any mage I have ever met."

I meet his eyes challengingly, still angry. "It must be very hard to have a mage as a friend, then, if that's how you feel. Far easier to keep seeing the world in dark and light as you do. Except Hawke doesn't belong in the dark, does she? She doesn't fit your definitions at all." He looks away, apparently at a loss for a reply or a contradiction, and I keep going, pursuing the attack relentlessly. I'm so sick of his misplaced anger. I can understand it but I can't tolerate it any more, not on top of everything else. I know it's a terrible idea to anger him in such close quarters with no means of escape, but I don't care right now, I've had enough. Hawke is so good to him, always, and he yet always goes on and on about the curse of magic and mages... I glare at him fiercely. "She's nothing but kind and helpful to you, despite your scorn. She's bright and pure and good and _beautiful_ and she takes your easily clear little world of black and white and mixes it up until it's all grey and muddled and you don't know what you think is right anymore. She contradicts everything you've ever thought about how evil mages are. It must be very uncomfortable for you. And lonely."

I watch him, breathing hard as I try to calm myself, expecting him to get angry, or scoff at me, or something, but he just sort of... stands there, staring at me, like a great, lanky lump. "You know Hawke is good," I press. "You know she is. And if you can accept that she is good, then doesn't it follow that there must be others like her? I know it's different in Tevinter, but here no one uses blood magic or becomes an abomination unless they are forced to, driven to. If I had found another way to fix the eluvian, I would have taken it." He scoffs disbelievingly, turning away. "I would! And now that Hawke is helping me-"

He rounds on me suddenly, towering over me with a very frightening look on his face, and I am suddenly very aware that if his markings still worked, they would be bathing the whole cell in blue lyrium light. "What do you mean, Hawke is helping you? She refused to be a party to your deal or your blood magic, I know she did, I heard her say so! What have you done to her, witch?" He advances toward me, his face a mask of snarling thunder. "No wonder she seems so infatuated with you. If you have harmed her, no demon or filthy blood magic rite will keep you safe, I swear it!"

He thinks I am... _controlling_ her? I feel a hot, sick swoop of anger in my stomach, and I leap to my feet to face him, glaring fiercely up into his furious face. "I would never do that, Fenris! I would _never_ hurt her! Hawke is trying to help me find a way to fix the eluvian _without_ blood magic, that's what I meant, if you would have just let me finish. So I won't have to use it again." I match his disbelieving gaze glare for glare, feeling my chest heave in fury. "She believes in trying to recover elven history, even if you don't care about it. She doesn't want me to use blood magic, any more than I want to use it, but she believes in what I'm doing. I am not controlling her; she _believes_ in me. Because she _loves _me."

He grimaces, his face contorting as though in pain. "Shut your mouth, little witch," he snarls. "I do not want to hear it."

I look at him in surprise, taken aback. That sort of childish reaction is unusual, even for him. Why is he acting this way? It's almost as if he's... no. He can't be... but... oh.

Oh... it would explain so much... all his odd behaviour; the way he was staring at her, how he reacted when she touched him, how angry he was that Anders wanted to put her at risk...

_Oh._.. _poor Fenris_...

My eyes widen as I stare at him. "You... you're in love with her?"

Fenris flinches, avoiding my gaze. "Don't be foolish."

"You are, though, aren't you? And... and you're jealous of me, for being with-"

"Enough," he says, flinching back, his lip curling as he looks away. "I do not wish to speak of this."

No wonder he was so confused... feeling that way about Hawke... a mage... and no wonder he has been especially... spiteful towards me... I'm sure I would feel much the same way if Hawke loved him and not me...

I look at him sorrowfully, not the least bit angry anymore. "Oh, Fenris... I'm so sorry."

"Keep your pity," he snarls as he looks away from me, moving to crouch with his back to the wall in the corner opposite me. "Mage or no, she is... a remarkable woman. One whom you do not deserve," he says after a moment, lifting his head to fix me with an icy glare. "Bring harm to her, and I will kill you." He keeps his threatening gaze on me for a few more moments and then twists his head away.

Well, I suppose I should have expected that sort of reaction. It suits me, though. If I ever hurt Hawke, then I would wish for death anyway. Though, probably best not to mention that, I think. I don't really want to encourage him.

"I certainly don't ever intend to give you reason to make good on that threat," I comment quietly. "But it's fair enough, I suppose."

We sit in a very uncomfortable silence for a few more minutes.

"Are you... going to tell her?" Fenris asks suddenly, his voice low, still not looking at me.

I blink at him for a moment, staring incredulously at him. "No, of course not, Fenris. It's not my business to tell her your feelings. They belong to you, and no one else."

He lifts his head and stares back at me, his face carefully emotionless. "I... appreciate that," he says after a moment, his tone grudging but clear of any scorn or venom, for once.

I nod gently at him. "Of course."

He hesitates for a moment, then inclines his head gracefully in return, and I almost feel as though we've reached, if not an understanding, then a... a truce, of sorts. Well. I hope it lasts, then. I briefly consider giving him an encouraging, friendly smile, but rapidly think better of it. No sense testing him, not now, anyway. It was probably hard enough for him to show me that much civility, I bet. I wouldn't want him to overdo it and hurt himself.

Suddenly I raise my eyes to the little barred window in the cell door, alert and watchful... I thought... I thought I heard something, just now... faint voices, echoing down the corridor... I tilt my head and listen closely, hardly daring to breathe...

"... thought I heard voices, we must be close. Merrill, where are you? Can you hear me?"

_Oh!_ I would know that sweet, silver voice anywhere. I break into a joyful grin and bound over to the door, stretching on my toes to see out of the little iron barred window in the cell door. "Ma vhenan, we're in here! We're locked in!"

I hear hurried footsteps in the distance, coming down the corridor toward me at a run, and then suddenly she's there, smiling at me with a look of utter relief. "Oh, thank the Maker! Are you alright?" she asks anxiously, and I nod quickly to reassure her.

"Yes, we're both fine. Were you locked in too? I heard Xenon tell his golem to bring us here until we woke, but he must have forgotten about us, I suppose; it's certainly been long enough," I tell her, my words escaping me in a hurried flood, as usual, but I don't care, I'm just so awfully happy to see her! "How did you get out? How did you find us?"

"Anders picked the lock with my belt knife," she answers as he appears behind her. She grins. "And as for finding you, well... we followed the noise. What were you two shouting about?"

I glance at Fenris. "Oh... nothing really. We had... um... a philosophical disagreement."

"Alright, then, I believe you," Hawke smiles. "Anything I'd be interested in?"

"Perhaps you could continue your conversation in a more convenient location?" Fenris breaks in hurriedly, looking very uncomfortable. "The corridor, for instance?"

"Alright," Hawke says, raising an eyebrow. "Point taken."

"Let me pick the lock," Anders offers, but Hawke shakes her head impatiently.

"No time for that. The door swings inward from this side, right? Merrill, move back. I'm going to open it," she says.

How is she going to do that? With a stone fist, or... or... but no, she'd have to have mana for that, and I don't feel mine at all, yet, so how can she? Unless the potion wears off humans more quickly? "Do you have your magic back, then?" I ask excitedly as I obey, pressing myself up against the wall next to the door as Fenris does the same opposite me.

"Afraid not," she answers, taking a step back from the door. "But I think this will be dramatic enough to make up for it."

The door suddenly bursts out of its frame with a very loud bang and crashes to the floor, its edges splintered and broken where the hinges used to be, the resulting cloud of dust clearing quickly in time to show Hawke outlined in the doorway just as she lowers her booted foot, her eyes already searching for me through the gloom and dust, and I feel my heart swell inside me. She... she actually kicked the door in to get to me... oh, I bet Varric would love to put that in his stories! She walks into the little room, reaching for me as I dash forwards, throwing myself into her arms. "Oh, ma vhenan, I missed you!" I whisper into her ear as she laughs, clutching me close. I know we were only apart from each other for a little while, and most of that time we were sleeping, but still... I did.

"I missed you, too," she says, a smile in her voice. "You have no idea how much."

Behind her, Anders glances away from us, staring moodily down the passageway. Fenris brushes past him as he leaves the cell and leans against the wall a few paces away, both of them wearing the same expression of irritated displeasure. Well... that seems a bit odd, doesn't it? I mean, I know why Fenris is looking so surly, at least, but I can't see why Anders is reacting this way. Unless... oh, I bet he and Hawke had another fight about me. I did think he wouldn't be able to hold back for long, after all, the way he reacted back in the shop when he found out about us. He probably jumped on the chance to caution her about me. From the stony look on his face, she just told him to leave me alone again. I tighten my arms about her neck, pressing my head against her shoulder, feeling more grateful and blessed than ever that she chose me, that she... she is mine. That she loves me, no matter what anyone says.

Hawke steps out of my embrace at last, and takes my elbow, leading me out of the cell and into the corridor. She smiles down at me, her fingers slipping down along my arm until she grasps my hand... and then I gasp sharply, suddenly feeling a stinging stab of pain as her fingers graze my palm. I look down at my hand just as Hawke does, a look of concern flashing across her face.

"You're bleeding!" she says, her voice surprised and worried as she gently draws my hand a little closer towards her, examining it carefully under the torchlight. "Anders, give me another bandage, quick."

I stare in surprise at the shallow cut across my left palm. I didn't feel... when did that happen? It doesn't hurt, at least, not enough for me to notice. I am used to such pain, of course, but... I don't remember cutting myself. Perhaps an old scar broke open? I doubt it, though; I haven't used my blood magic since before Hawke mended my wounds last night, and she is too good with creation magic for anything she heals to have reopened like this.

Fenris glances at my hand, too, and his lip curls in disgust. I glare at him; I know what he's thinking. So much for our 'truce'. "I didn't try to use blood magic, Fenris, why would I?" I tell him irritably as Hawke bandages my hand. "It wouldn't have worked anyway, remember? Perhaps I cut myself when I snapped the knife in the door, or something..." I trail off as I notice the bandage around Hawke's hand, too. Around her left palm, the same place as mine. That... seems like an unusual coincidence... "Ma vhenan, you too?"

She glances at her hand and shrugs. "It was there when I woke up. I don't remember getting it. I just figured it happened when we passed out. There was a lot of broken glass everywhere from the flask Urchin dropped, after all."

"Neither of you remember cutting yourselves?" Anders asks, a worried frown appearing between his brows.

We both shake our heads. "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," I say as his frown deepens. "At least, there's no point us worrying about it now. Couldn't we just try to find our way out of here? We should get back up to the shop and let messere Xenon know we're awake. Perhaps he will have found something to make the potion wear off, if it doesn't on its own, soon."

"Either way, I'm going to have a few strong words for him when we get out of here," Hawke mutters darkly as she ties off my bandage with a neat, well practised knot. "Perhaps with a few sharp blows on his wrinkled old head for emphasis."

I look up at her in concern at her angry tone. "I don't think he meant for this to happen."

Hawke glances at me, and her face relaxes into a gentle smile. "Maybe not, but all the same, I think he needs to work on his emergency procedures a little," she says, a bit more calmly. "And maybe not keep dangerously unstable experimental, magic dampening, suffocating potions lying around within reach of children with slippery fingers, particularly one who jumps at loud noises."

We all start in surprise as another loud roar suddenly rips through the air, reverberating down the corridor towards us, followed by an odd sort of booming, thumping, crunching sound, as though something very large in a temper just threw itself angrily against something solid.

"There goes that creature, again," I say sympathetically. "It sounds hungry, poor thing, whatever it is. I can't say I've ever heard anything make a noise like that, though. What do you suppose it could be?"

"If we're lucky, we won't find out," Hawke says, glancing down the corridor in the direction of the noise. "I'm not counting on going that way, anyway."

"Uh... I'm not sure we will have much of a choice," Anders says, gesturing behind us to where the corridor stops in a bare, blank wall a few cell doors down from us. "Looks like this way is a dead end."

"Of course it is. Great," Hawke mutters, handing me my staff as Anders passes Fenris his sword, which he accepts with a grudging nod. "They were outside your door," Hawke says when I look at her questioningly. "They won't do us a whole lot of good as we are right now, but we shouldn't need them anyway."

"Now who is tempting fate, ma vhenan?" I tease her gently.

"You're right, sorry," Hawke smiles. "Come on. There's probably a lift or something that will get us back up to the Emporium. The sooner we get out of this rat warren, the better," she says, gesturing down the corridor with the hand holding her staff. "And I'd like to explain to Xenon that drugging your customers and locking them in a crumbling ruin full of ill-fed dangerous animals is not a sound business strategy. Nor is it most people's idea of 'safety'." She gives a small laugh. "Sane people, anyway."

"I will lead," Fenris states firmly, lifting his sword in both hands before him in a guarded sort of position. Hawke glances at him questioningly. "Until this potion loses its effect, you are - shall we say - not exactly at your best," he reminds her, a meaningful tone to his voice. He indicates the stark white lyrium scars curling over his upper arms. "I am still a more than capable warrior without these, however. Let me defend you. I will be better able to respond to a threat, should we encounter one."

"You have a point," Hawke concedes, and gives another small wave with her staff. "Lead on, then."

We walk down the hallway for a little while, following Fenris past door after identical door, the only relief from the blank, indifferent walls of stone the occasional horrible mural of a tortured slave, collared and writhing in agony. I try to block out the sight of them, instead listening to the soft rustling noises and occasional low growls coming from whatever strange creatures are locked inside the cells. Mythal, there are so many! What does Xenon do with them? Does he really expect to sell them all? How does he keep them all fed? I don't suppose they get any sunlight or exercise down here, either, poor things. I_ really_ don't like this; it seems very cruel, just sort of locking animals up like this, in such tiny, dark spaces. And to think that this place once housed elven slaves, _people_... I shiver again as another wave of old sadness washes over me, echoes of pain and suffering from long ago, and shift my staff gingerly to my bandaged left hand so I can reach out for Hawke's, seeking the reassurance of her warmth and her touch, feeling a little better as she twines her fingers with mine, pressing firmly. I hope it doesn't take us too long to find a way out of here and get some replenishing draughts. It's really a very uncomfortable feeling, being without my magic. I've been drained of mana before, but never completely, and never like this... It sort of feels like... like I've lost one of my senses, or a limb, maybe. Anders and Hawke seem just as uneasy as I am about it, if not more; they both have the same sort of strained look about their eyes. I'm sure it will be alright again once the potion subsides, though.

At last we reach a bend in the passage and come to an open, empty cell, as dank and tiny as the one Fenris and I were confined to.

"Here's where we started, Hawke," Anders comments quietly, peering inside. He turns to look down the passage ahead of us. It's a good thing there only seems to be one way to go; I don't know what we'd do if this place suddenly turned into a maze. But then, Hawke can always find a way out of anywhere, can't she? "I guess the way out must be down here, somewhere."

"Let's hope it isn't too far," Hawke mutters, motioning us onwards.

We walk on for a few minutes, and then Fenris suddenly reaches out with a gauntleted hand to halt us. He tilts his head, eyes narrowed warily as he stares at a point in the distance.

"Hold."

"What is it?" Hawke asks him quietly, keeping her voice to a low, hushed murmur as we stop and look at him curiously.

He gestures at something a little further down the corridor. "Look there..."

Hawke turns to gaze in the direction he points, and I peer over her shoulder, trying to see what he is so worried about. Apart from another open cell door, I don't really see anything worth noting, except... wait. I blink, and look harder. It's not just open... there isn't actually a door there at all, or at least... not anymore. There's just... just an empty frame, the age-darkened timber beams battered and splintered; broken shards of wood scattered about in front of the gaping hole as though... as though something very large and powerful forced its way through quite recently.

_Well... that can't be good, can it? _

Fenris takes a few careful steps forward, holding his giant sword up in front of him, and peers cautiously into the open cell.

"Empty," he says, frowning a little. "Whatever was in here must have been sizeable. The cell is far bigger than any we have passed."

"Lovely," Hawke mutters. "I suppose whatever beast was in there got tired of waiting for dinner."

"I think it may have found some," Anders says darkly, gesturing at the cell opposite.

I look where he points, and feel my eyes widen a little. This cell door is broken too, but inwards instead of outwards, which is why we didn't notice it earlier, I suppose; lying on the cell floor just like our door after Hawke kicked it down. Only... only there are great, long scratch marks gouged into the surface of it from what must be some very large, _very_ sharp claws...

Hawke walks over to examine the cell. Anders grabs at her arm, trying to pull her back, but she shakes him off gently. "If anything was still in there, it would have heard us and I rather doubt it would have opted to sit back and enjoy our dulcet tones," she says, and glances into the cell. "There's a little bit of blood in here... not much, though, and no body or remains, except..." She steps into the cell and bends to pick something up from the floor, and then she straightens, turning to show us a small white feather in the palm of her hand. I squint at it, trying to work out what it could be from; I can't really tell from just one little feather.

"A bird," Anders concludes unnecessarily, arching an eyebrow at the feather. "Hm."

"Odd, even for Xenon," Hawke says, peering closely at it. "What sort of bird would be of interest to him?"

"It could be a simir bird, perhaps," Fenris suggests uninterestedly. "Magisters have nearly had them hunted to extinction. They believe the feathers have... magical properties. They would pay a great deal for a surviving specimen."

I sigh sorrowfully. Poor thing. What a terrible fate for a bird, any sort of bird; trapped down here in the darkness for Creators know how long, unable to even see the sky, let alone fly free. And then to just be... eaten... though perhaps it's better than being used in a magisters' experiments, I suppose.

"Wait..." Anders says, pointing to the ground outside the cell. "Look there... and there. There's a trail."

He's right. A few very small drops of blood lead out of the cell and away down the passageway ahead of us, accompanied by scrabbling claw marks scored deeply into the dirty stone floor. And more little white feathers, some of them flecked with crimson, scattered at intervals along the path of the trail.

"Perhaps it got away?" I say hopefully.

"Or perhaps the beast is simply taking its meal elsewhere," Anders counters grimly, a note of irritation in his voice. "That seems more likely, don't you think?"

Hawke glances at him sharply, looking cross at his sarcastic tone. "Not necessarily. There isn't that much blood; whatever it is could still be alive, and trying to escape. Merrill could be right."

Anders exhales shortly, suddenly looking very annoyed. Oh, yes, I know that look; she definitely gave him a good scolding for his temper to be so short, at least concerning me. "Well, it doesn't matter! Either way, we have an obviously large and powerful unknown creature somewhere ahead of us, possibly hungry, definitely dangerous, and likely extremely irritated if its meal is evading it," he says, the irritation in his own voice much more obvious, now. "For some strange reason, I'm slightly more concerned for us than for the fate of its _current _prey."

Another angry roar suddenly echoes down the corridor towards us, sounding even louder and more ferocious than ever.

"That is definitely not the call of a satisfied hunter," I put in worriedly, though I do feel an odd sense of triumph, since it seems as though I might be right, and Anders wrong, for once. I wish I was right about something more encouraging and less hungry and definitely dangerous, though.

Hawke peers down the passageway for a moment, a look of wry resignation on her face. "It figures. Can't go five minutes without getting jumped, and now I can't even so much as walk into a shop without being drugged, imprisoned, and having something big try to eat me," she mutters to herself. "Bloody Xenon." She turns back to us. "Well, there's nothing else for it; we'll just have to keep going, I suppose," she says, holding her staff out upside down in front of her, so that she can keep the sharp melee blade at the end of it at the ready. I copy her, although the blade on my staff is much smaller, and rather dull... I never remember to sharpen it. "Let's hope that wherever the way out of this place is; the mystery beast's prey leads it well past before we find it," Hawke continues.

"Or if the beast is successful in its hunt, let us hope that its hunger is well sated before we cross paths," Fenris remarks dryly, taking the lead again.

"Failing that, pray it doesn't want seconds," Anders adds as we follow.

The trail of blood and the occasional feather carries on as we follow the corridor, past dozens more firmly bolted cells, the inhabitants along this stretch of the passage all unnaturally silent. We haven't heard any more awful screeches or roars, though, not for quite some time, but somehow... I'm not really so certain that's a good thing. I am starting to get very nervous, now, and the others look no less worried, even Hawke. I don't know what we'll do, if we don't reach the way out before we find this beast... or before it finds us... although I suppose either of those options would be quite as bad as the other, really. I start to offer a silent, fervent prayer to the Creators but then think better of it. Not just because they probably won't listen anyway, but also because it's more likely to be the Forgotten Ones who hear me all the way down here, trapped as they are in the Abyss, and that would be the opposite of helpful; they'd be more likely to set the creature upon us than help us evade it.

We turn another corner and Fenris stops in front of us, hand raised; the passage ends a few paces away, opening up into what seems to be a large room, very badly lit with only a few flickering torches, the trembling flames casting large, dancing shadows over the walls and making it very hard to see inside. I glance down at the flagstones and sure enough, the bloody, feathery trail leads right on into the room ahead of us. Well, of course it does, really; there's nowhere else to go, is there? I... don't have a very good feeling about this, somehow...

"The way out must be through here somewhere," Hawke murmurs, her voice low and hushed, and Fenris nods.

"Let us see."

He stalks forward on silent feet and I pad after him as softly as possible, Hawke beside me and Anders close behind; the ringing of their hard leather-soled boots muted by their careful steps as we move cautiously through the archway into the huge dark chamber ahead. It's so hard to see anything; the light is so dim... Small trickles of dirt drift down from the ceiling above us as Fenris leads the way across the room, sword at the ready. I make sure to keep very close to Hawke.

"Look!" Anders says suddenly, sounding relieved. "Over there." He points ahead of us towards a tall square patch of darkness barely visible at the other end of the room, the two small torches on either side of it flickering faster and more fitfully that the others in the dark chamber, as though buffeted by a very slight rush of air from somewhere close beside them. We move closer to inspect it, and the patch of shadow resolves itself into a lift shaft set into the wall, stretching from floor to ceiling and far beyond, back up towards the surface. "Our way out," Anders says with satisfaction. "About time."

I peer into the shadowy shaft, but it's empty; only dusty flagstones where the lift should be. It must have been raised, then. But... "How do we get out?" I wonder aloud.

"I guess the golem must have taken the lift back up to the shop," Anders says, and walks forward to poke his head into the shaft, craning his neck up. "It must still be up there with its master. We'll just have to get their attention. Hello! Xenon!" he calls, his voice echoing loudly. "Get us out of here, you crumbling old sack of-"

"Shh!" Hawke hushes him urgently, pulling him back a little. "Listen..."

We all fall silent, listening, and suddenly I hear a faint scraping, scrabbling sound echoing out of the shadowy interior of the shaft, and a weak sort of... squawking, only soft, but... clearly very frightened. It seems to be coming from a small hole where the crumbling stone wall of the shaft meets the floor, right in the very back corner. How did I not hear it before? Unless Anders frightened it, yelling like that? Whatever it is, it must be some sort of animal. A few splatters of blood and more little white feathers lie at the mouth of the small hole, and I point this out to the others.

"Look. It must be the bird that creature was hunting. It didn't get eaten after all!" I crouch down to peer into the hole and see a patch of whiteness in the gloom, something small and white huddling deep in the hole as far as it can go. "Yes, it's in here! Hiding at the back..." The bird gives a little cawing cry as I speak, half from fright, half from... pain. The blood... of course, it's hurt! "It's all right now, poor little thing..." I call soothingly into the hole, but the little bird only huddles tighter. Oh, it must be terrified! If only it would come out, we could help it! "The beast must have lost track of him."

"Doubtful," Fenris says, a slight curl to his lip as he looks down at me on my knees in front of the hole. I suppose he thinks I sound foolish, talking to a bird, but the poor thing is wounded and frightened, and a kind voice is something any hurt creature responds to. I can't just leave him, not without at least trying to help.

"Perhaps it couldn't reach him, then, and gave up." I shift a little closer to get a better look at the bird. I still can't tell what sort it is, exactly; it just looks like a little ball of feathers, all curled in on itself like that, hiding in its wings. And it's all in shadow, tightly wedged into that little hole, there. "Clever thing, to think of hiding in there," I coo at it gently, but it still won't come out, although the some of the feathers at the edge of its wing shift a little, and a bright round eye peeps out at me between them. I give it an encouraging smile, and it blinks for a moment, looking at me, and then covers its eye again. Still... that's a little better. I turn to look up at Hawke worriedly. "I think that creature must have hurt him."

"But then... where did the beast - whatever it is - where did it go?" Anders says, looking at Hawke too, who shrugs as she crouches down beside me to peer into the bird's hidey-hole.

"Perhaps, when it couldn't get this fellow, it went looking for other prey... although come to think of it, all the claw marks led into this room, but none led out..."

She breaks off suddenly with a look of dawning, horrified comprehension. "Oh, no," she says, her voice full of dread; just as a very familiar piercing, shrieking roar rips through the air and a great black shadow drops from the ceiling behind us, hissing menacingly as it towers over us. Mythal, it must have been clinging there this whole time, waiting to corner us! Hawke and I rise quickly as Anders and Fenris spin to face the creature too, staves and sword held defensively in front of us, pointy ends first. The great beast prowls forward a few steps into a patch of torchlight, revealing a great, lizard-like monster, slitted pupils fixed on us, cruel talons scraping the stone beneath it, the flames illuminating the lurid purple and yellow markings over its scaly black hide...

"What is it? What in the Void is it?" Anders says, glancing sideways at Hawke and lifting his staff defensively as the creature halts a few paces away, twisting its dragon-like head to look at him.

Hawke shakes her head. "I'm going with 'hungry'. Other than that, no idea," she says grimly.

"A beast with enough intelligence to lay a trap for bigger prey, it seems," Fenris mutters. "It must have caught our scent. I have not seen its like before."

Nor have I, but... a dragonish monster as big as a drake but wingless, a crested serpentine head, its brightly coloured scales a warning of the venom in its fangs, in its breath... just like in Hahren Paivel's stories, oh, Mythal protect us...

"It's a wyvern, I think," I tell them, trying not to let my voice quaver as the creature lets out another rumbling, stuttering growl, swinging its head slowly as it gazes at each of us in turn, as though pondering whether or not to attack. Or deciding which of us looks tastier. "Cousins to dragons, flightless, but just as vicious and _very _venomous-"

The beast suddenly opens its tooth-filled jaws and roars its hunting-call again as though to emphasise my point, the piercing, shuddering scream echoing deafeningly around the chamber and up the shaft behind us as it lowers its head to charge and crush us inside. Hawke curses and springs toward it before it can, slashing the bladed end of her staff at the creature's eyes to distract it, then dodging to the left as it snaps at her, snarling fiercely.

"Spread out!" she orders, circling the creature, and the wyvern turns its head to fix her in its beady yellow gaze, hissing threateningly as it follows her progress. "Try to get back across the chamber and into the passage-"

The wyvern lets out another deafening cry and swipes at her angrily, roaring again in frustration as she dances back out of reach, then lunges forward with her staff, slicing the creature across the nose. My heart leaps into my throat as she taunts it, backing away further; trying to draw it away from the rest of us by risking herself. And it's working; the wyvern has forgotten all else; its attention fixed only on her as it opens its jaws in a menacing, hissing scream, the fin-like frills on its head shaking and quivering in its rage. "Go!" she cries again.

No! She won't face it alone; she can't, not without her magic! I grip my staff firmly, dashing forward. "I'm not leaving you!" I tell her fiercely, slashing the end of my staff across the wyvern's unguarded hind legs, trying to sever its tendons, but the blunted blade simply glances off the thick, scaly hide as though it were chainmail. Oh, Mythal, I wish I were wearing mine, right now! I strike out at it again, but the wyvern doesn't seem to even feel the useless blows I rain upon it; it crouches low and lunges towards Hawke again, with a razor-tipped three-clawed hand, the wing-like ridges on its wrists slicing the air as it swipes at her.

"Merrill, go!" she yells, lifting her staff to block the creature's strike, then ducking away and slashing at its front legs. "Get to the hallway, all of you! Its movements will be more restricted when it follows-" The breath leaves her lungs in a painful rush of sound as the wyvern strikes, knocking her down with a sweep of its brutish crested head and she falls to the ground several paces away, her staff tumbling from her hands and rolling away into the dark.

"Ma vhenan!" I cry out in fear and rage, beating at the wretched beast furiously from behind with my staff, raking the blade ineffectively over its hide, but it still doesn't notice me, or consider me a threat, at all; its eyes fixed only on Hawke as it advances on her, helpless on the ground. "_No!"_

"No!" Anders yells, echoing my cry as he runs past me, circling to the wyvern's right flank to search for a weak spot, staff at the ready, and Fenris growls fiercely as he springs forward to attack the creature on the left. The wyvern snarls at him as he stalks into its line of vision, venom dripping from its jaws as it glances between him and Hawke, divided between its downed prey and this new sword-wielding danger.

"We can't... fight it here... it's too open!" Hawke cries, sounding winded, her eyes searching frantically for her staff as she tries to climb to her knees, clutching her ribs, and the wyvern turns, its attention called abruptly back to her. "Go! Draw it back... into the corridor!"

"After it's done with you? Out of the question!" Anders yells, and he swings his staff above his head like a mace, bringing it down forcefully onto the wyvern, cracking the spiked metal butt against its ridged back. It twists to face him, snarling, and he dodges as it claws at him. Fenris seizes on its moment of distraction and sprints forward, twisting and diving beneath the beast and slashing along its exposed underbelly as he slides under it, flipping gracefully to his feet as he emerges from beneath it with a final swipe at its forelegs. The wyvern rears, screaming in rage and pain, and spins on its haunches, lashing out at him with its heavy tail, sending him crashing into Anders, and they tumble to the floor, weapons knocked from their hands; Anders' staff clattering beside him, and Fenris' greatsword spinning and skittering across the stones, coming to rest a few paces from me. The wyvern twists as swiftly as a striking serpent, turning on them as they struggle to rise and spraying them with a misty poisoned vapour from its jaws, and they fall still, breathing, but paralysed, senseless. The horrible reptile stumbles towards them, bleeding heavily from the slash in its belly as it hisses in angry triumph.

"Leave them!" I shout at it foolishly, as though it might obey, but it ignores me, stalking towards the two immobile men as it opens its jaws hungrily, displaying a mouthful of great curved fangs. I cast my eyes about the floor and pick up a sharp looking piece of rubble from the ground, hurling it at the creature's foul reptile head and grabbing frantically for another as the first bounces off uselessly. "Over here, you... vile, mean... thing!"

Hawke scrambles all the way to her feet at last and draws her belt knife. "Merrill! No!" she yells, her voice still breathless and pained, but it's too late; my next rock hits the monster straight in its awful yellow eye and it gives a high pitched roar of fury as it turns on me instead, registering my presence at last. The only trouble is, I'm not sure what to do about it, now... I clutch my staff in a vice-like grip as the wyvern bares its teeth at me in a snarl, holding it up in front of me, the end pointed squarely in the beast's gnarled, scaly face. Elgar'nan guide me, why do I never remember to sharpen the blade? Situations like this are exactly what it's there for!

_All-Father, God of Vengeance; get me out of this alive and I'll never forget again, I promise! Oh, what did Hahren Pieval's stories say about fighting wyverns... ah! When all else fails, go for the eyes!_

I jab at the wyvern's lurid orbs with the dull and useless blade, but it lunges forward with a clawed hand and I stumble back out of reach just in time, struggling to regain my footing, heart beating in a frenzy of fear. That should have worked, why didn't it work? Oh, what I wouldn't give to feel a fraction of my magic right now! The monster growls thunderously, crouching low as though to spring at me, and then suddenly Hawke is there, leaping onto it from behind, scrambling up its back with her little blade clenched between her teeth, her blue eyes alight in a blaze of fury. She hangs on determinedly she straddles the wyvern's ridged back, gripping tight with her legs as it twists and thrashes, spitting ferociously as it tries to throw her off, and then she plunges her belt knife into its shoulders and neck, driving it down again and again as it roars in frustrated anger. But her blade, no more than a finger length of steel, barely penetrates the tough, pebbled scales of its hide, and at last the beast starts shaking itself back and forth violently, rearing and plunging and then with one final forceful buck, Hawke is thrown from his back and sent flying. Her head hits the thick stone wall behind her with a horrible, sickening _crack_ and she slumps to the ground, unmoving, her blade clattering from senseless fingers.

"HAWKE!" I cry, but she is still, so still, her eyes closed, unconscious, at least, I hope she's just unconscious, oh, Mythal, please! The monster screeches its victory and lunges for her - _NO!_ - and I scream in anguished fury as I leap forward, driving the blunt blade of my staff into the creature's side with all my might before its jaws can close about her. The beast shrieks in rage and pain and whirls on me, and my staff, deeply embedded in its heaving side, is ripped from my hands, throwing me backwards with the force of it. I land on something long and flat and cold and sharp - _Fenris's greatsword!_ - and I snatch it up as the wyvern stalks towards me with jerking, faltering movements, dripping blood with every step, its eyes mad with dying, murderous rage. I cast about frantically for help, any help; "Hawke! Anders! Fenris! _Please!_" But they can't move, they can't help me now, I'm powerless and alone, but for the monster. I struggle to raise the heavy sword but only just manage to bring the razor point up as the beast coils and springs forward, striking, hurtling into me with a deafening frenzied screech and driving me to the ground, its jaws wide and snarling... my head cracks against the cold stone floor... a sharp, agonising pain pierces my chest, ripping, tearing, _burning_, a heavy weight crushes me as the wyvern's agonised shriek drowns out my own... the torchlight dims into the blackness of the abyss... and then...

and... then...

...

* * *

><p>xxx H xxx<p>

* * *

><p>The blackness recedes... my eyes open slowly, cheek pressed against cold stone again... on the floor twice in one day, I should be ashamed... Maker, <em>my head<em>... but I'm alive, and definitely not eaten... so that's... that's good, right?

I push myself achingly to my knees, blinking blearily about the chamber, unable to see as my vision wavers dangerously... there's a very faint scratching sound whispering in my ears... but I can't hear the wyvern... The others must have finished it... but... where are they?

I frown a little, shaking my head to clear it, and then I wince as a sharp pain shoots through my skull. I touch two fingers gingerly to the swelling lump at the back of my head and bring them away covered in blood... I was out cold... and so were Anders and Fenris... the wyvern was wounded but not down... and Merrill... was alone with it...

Alone, and powerless...

I stumble as I lurch to my feet, casting my gaze about the chamber, searching for her desperately, briefly noting Fenris and Anders sprawled beside each other a few feet away, stirring feebly and groaning as the effects of the wyvern's paralysing toxin subsides, and then my eyes fall on the still body of the wyvern, its enormous, safely dead form blocking the opening of the empty elevator shaft; Merrill's staff protruding from its scaly side, embedded deeply. She... she did it! A brief surge of proud relief rushes through me at the sight of it, quickly vanishing as I see no other sign of her. Andraste, where is she? I step closer to the wyvern, my sight still hazy, moving slowly and cautiously as I feel a painful twinge in my ribs where the foul beast's head struck them; bruised, probably, or fractured... I reach unhopefully for my mana, and to my great surprise find the faintest glimmer, the smallest spark; not enough to heal so much as a thorn prick, but still very much encouraging. Xenon's wretched potion must be wearing off at last... Something catches my eye as I draw closer to the dead beast; a flash of ivory beneath the dark black scales of the creature. More feathers, perhaps? I squint at it curiously as my vision clears... and my heart stops dead, my blood freezes cold, veins flooded with icy terror as I stand stock still, unmoving, unbreathing, _unbelieving_, the pain in my side forgotten as I stare at the slender outflung arm protruding from beneath the wyvern's sprawling form, resting in a spreading pool of crimson blood, limp and pale and oh, Maker, no, _no!_

"Merrill!" I scream, staggering towards her, pushing desperately against the wyvern's side, trying to get it off her, but it doesn't budge; it's far too heavy. I twist, staring wildly behind me at the men still climbing shakily to their feet, Anders gripping his staff for leverage. "Anders, Fenris, help me! Get up! _Now!_"

"Ungh... Hawke?" Anders mutters dazedly, clutching at his head. Fenris is quicker to recover, shaking his head once and snapping his green gaze to me as he registers my frantic cries, his eyes widening as he takes in the situation, then he seizes Anders by the sleeve of his coat and hauls him over to me.

"Move, mage!"

"Oh, Maker!" Anders exclaims as he looks at the slain beast, seeing Merrill trapped beneath it.

"_Help me!_" I all but scream again, a loud note of hysteria creeping into my voice, and they both spring to action as though struck by a bolt of lightning, heaving the crushing weight of the monster up as I pull the limp, bloody form out from beneath it, dragging Merrill away from the beast and cradling her in my arms. Her eyes are closed, her skin deathly pale. Her tunic is crimson with blood... the material rent and torn, as is the flesh beneath it; a row of deep wounds mar the blood-smeared skin of her chest above her heart, the cruel, jagged marks of razor sharp fangs...

"Merrill?" I whisper, my voice breaking as I cup her cool cheek, and then I try again, louder. "Merrill, love, can you hear me?" She doesn't respond, doesn't move at all; the only sign of life the shallow rise and fall of her chest; she is breathing, but only just...

The dull thud of a falling heavy body echoes about the chamber as the men drop the beast on its side, and then Anders is kneeling across from me, speaking softly as he removes his coat and spreads it on the cold stone ground, his movements swift, practised and efficient.

"Hawke. Hawke, put her down on this." I clutch her tighter, rocking her back and forth, moaning softly beneath my breath, and his voice grows more insistent. "Hawke, set her down. We need to examine her, treat her."

The healer in me wakes in response to his words, stirring me into movement, and I immediately lay her on Ander's coat, slowly, carefully. Treat her. Yes. I look up at him hopefully. "Can you feel... is your magic returning?"

He hesitates. "Yes; a little, but... not enough to attempt anything. I have to examine her without it."

He reaches out his hands over the wounds, glancing at me as though to ask permission, and I nod impatiently; his experience far outstrips mine, after all, and I'm not nearly as proficient treating anything without magic. Maker, Andraste, let her be alright... I take a deep breath and watch as he bends his head over her, pulling away the shreds of her tunic and examining the wounds on her chest with clinical detachment - _oh, Maker, look at them_ - and I try desperately to calm myself, trying to see the situation with the cool head of a healer; nothing else will be of use to her now. Anders moves his hands over Merrill's ribcage, now pressing delicately as he feels for the damage done to her bones, some of which I know must have been fractured or worse beneath the monster's driving weight, beneath the impact of its fangs - _oh, blessed Andraste_ - and I peer at the deep gashes on her chest, still sluggishly oozing blood, though not as much as I would expect, noting a thick, clear fluid mixed with the persistent crimson trickle...

_"... just as vicious and _very_ venomous..."_

Oh, _Maker!_

"Venom," Anders confirms grimly, noting the direction of my gaze as he pulls his remaining stock of bandages from his belt pouch along with a small vial of thick red liquid. He uncorks the bottle, glancing at me as he wets a piece of linen bandage with some of the contents and begins swabbing the awful, ragged bite marks, removing the excess poison. "I have a little elfroot - it won't stop the poison, but it will do something for her wounds, halt the bleeding, at least, perhaps close them a little." Merrill remains as still as death as he cleans her wounds, showing no discomfort, no pain, nothing at all; her face blank, unresponsive. But for the pale, pallid tone of her skin and the sheen of sweat on her brow, she could be sleeping...

Anders voice breaks through into my mind again. "Hawke, lift her up a little, and I'll bind her wound. Mind her ribs, three are cracked and two broken." I obey carefully, my mind now humming a blank, tuneless, unwavering note of terror, slipping my arm gently beneath her slender shoulders, supporting her head and raising her torso from the ground as Anders begins winding the bandage carefully but tightly about her, over the shredded remains of her clothing. Oh, Andraste, _Merrill._..

A loud, unpleasant squelching sound dimly draws my attention, and I glance over towards the wyvern corpse as Fenris draws his sword from the centre of the dead beast's chest.

"Impaled," he says, his eyes running the length of the crimson blade, and he glances at the limp little body in my arms, something like grudging respect in his face and his tone despite himself. "She must have retrieved my sword after I lost hold of it... and stabbed the beast even as it struck her down."

I moan again and press my lips against Merrill's cool temple, tears pricking with desperate, painful pride at the courage of my beautiful little elf. "Hold on, my love," I whisper urgently. "Just hold on. We'll find a way out of here, and fix you up. I promise."

Anders glances at me, apparently having heard my murmured words. "Hawke... the venom seems to have formed a sort of seal over the wound and kept her from bleeding too much - most of the blood here must be the wyvern's," he says, gesturing one-handed at her crimson tunic and the pool of blood beneath the dead monster as he finishes wrapping the bandage carefully about her chest. "But the fact that she hasn't lost too much blood... given the circumstances... is not encouraging. I don't know potent wyvern venom is meant to be, but..." he falls silent, tying it off and avoiding my gaze.

I cradle Merrill carefully in my arms, feeling her shallow breathing, her faltering heartbeat... I try again to reach for my mana, but there still isn't more than a thimbleful. "But what?" I ask in a whisper, though I keep my eyes on Merrill's face, unable to look at him, dreading to hear what I know he is about to tell me.

"She was bitten close to the heart, Hawke," he says, his voice low and gentle, but firm with conviction. "And with the poison already working through her blood, spreading through her body... without healing or an antidote... she can't have-"

"Don't!" I cut him off fiercely, but my treacherous mind resolutely completes his unspoken sentence.

_She can't have long._

I stare at him blankly as my heart and mind and soul are assaulted by terror, panic, anger, guilt. "She didn't put her mail on; she didn't think she'd need it... I should have made her... it was my idea to go to the Emporium..."

"I'm sorry," Anders says softly.

_No. No, no, no..._

"The beast is still warm," Fenris observes. "It can only have been dead a few minutes at most; we have not been unconscious for long. The venom can only have had a short time to work."

I shake my head to clear it, trying to think past the odd, faint scraping still brushing my ears. Merrill is hurt... maybe... maybe dying, and we don't have much... we don't have a lot of options. We could try to find another way out, but Maker knows how far these ruins sprawl... or we could wait here and rely on that lunatic to remember we've been locked down here... "Xenon... Xenon must have an antidote. It's his blasted wyvern, surely he has something..." _If he doesn't... if Merrill... if she dies... I swear by any and every god in existence that I will make certain he spends the rest of his eternally rotting life in excruciating pain. _I tear my desperate gaze away from Merrill's ashen face, lifting my head and glancing between Fenris and Anders. "We need... we need to get back up there. Try... try and get Xenon's attention, get him to send the lift back, hurry!"

They nod without speaking and skirt about the dead wyvern, their voices booming and echoing in the elevator shaft as they bellow up into the darkness far above;

"Antiquarian! Assistance would be appreciated!"

"Get us out of here, you decrepit old carcass!"

Their insistent, furious shouting is so loud that I almost miss the sudden, shuddering gasp and quiet moan from the bundle in my arms. I look down in surprise as Merrill stirs feebly, blinking slowly up at me, her eyelids trembling as she struggles to keep them open.

"H-Hawke?"

_Oh, my love..._ I cup her cheek in my hand, gazing down at her with a strained mix of joy and lingering fear. She's awake... the elfroot must be working, at least a little, but... Maker, she's still so pale... "Yes, I'm right here, Merrill. I've got you."

She takes a deep breath, and then another, her half-open emerald eyes fixed on my anxious face. "Have... have I mentioned... that I don't really like it here?" she whispers weakly, one corner of her mouth turning up in the ghost of a cheeky half-smile.

I give a soundless laugh of relief, and press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Have I mentioned that I love you?"

"Yes..." Merrill breathes distractedly, and tries to turn her head, to look about the chamber. "Anders? Fenris? I hear... shouting..."

I nod reassuringly, smiling despite my growing alarm at the faintness of her voice. "That's them. They're alright, they're calling for help."

Her worried eyes find mine again. "The... wyvern?"

"You killed it, with Fenris's sword," I remind her, letting the full warmth of my awe at her courage pervade my voice as I smile at her lovingly. "You saved us, my little hero. Mahariel has competition, it seems."

Merrill smiles faintly in return and opens her mouth to speak, but then suddenly inhales sharply, her back arching, fists clenching, her green eyes filling with pain.

I clutch her to me, searing terror flooding my veins at the agony in her face, her eyes. "Merrill?"

"It... hurts..." she whimpers, and a cold fist seizes my heart and squeezes tight. "It _hurts_... my blood is... on fire... oh, ma vhenan... I'm... _burning_..."

The fist clenches mercilessly, shredding my insides; the venom must be working through her more quickly now, if it's reached her heart as Anders said... _Maker, no.._. I cast about frantically, searching for a way to help her, something, _anything_. My eyes fall on the abandoned vial of elfroot potion Anders left beside me, and I snatch it up, lifting her head a little and holding it to her lips.

"Drink this, love. All of it."

She opens her mouth a little, trusting me, and I feed her the elfroot, just a few sips at a time until the little vial is empty, which doesn't take long. Maker's breath, but I wish I had more. Why didn't I think to bring some? Merrill lets her head fall against my shoulder once the potion is gone, her eyes fluttering closed, the delicate skin of her eyelids dark and purple with exhaustion. I watch her anxiously, but I can't see any real change; she is still pale as snow, her chest rising and falling more deeply, now, but with increasing difficulty, and small tremors wrack her body with every laboured breath.

"Suledin..." she murmurs quietly, her voice delirious. "Suledin... tel'numin..."

I stroke her cheek, unable to summon more than a terrified whisper. "Merrill?"

She doesn't react to my voice or touch; lost in her feverish rambling. "Make... no sound... when receiving the... the vallaslin... da'len... If you cannot... cannot bear... the pain... you are not ready for... f-for adulthood... N-no tears, Merrill... n-not out loud..." She gasps, and her brows draw together in bewilderment, though her eyes stay closed. "But... why does my chest hurt so... s-so badly? It... it hurts... to _breathe_..."

My breath stops in my throat as I bite back a terrified sob, and she slips once more into unconsciousness, her cheeks more bloodless than ever, paler than should be possible. She whimpers softly beneath her breath, shivering violently all over; her body trembling with pain even in her unconscious state as the venom wreaks havoc through her veins. I hold her close, whispering fervent words of love and encouragement and hope, trying to still the shaking of her slender frame, listening dully to Anders and Fenris still calling uselessly up the shaft for help, all the while feeling the full weight of my helplessness crashing over me in a wave of black despair. There's nothing I can do for her. Even if I had full command of all my mana, I don't know if I could halt the progress of the foul venom ravaging her tiny body without an antidote, and if we don't get out of here soon... or even if we do, but the Maker-cursed Antiquarian has no remedy, or... or we're just too late... I can't...

A glint of silvery white tugs at the corner of my eye, and I look towards it slowly, expecting to see Fenris seeking my attention... perhaps the lift is coming?... but he and Anders are still out of sight behind the dead wyvern, calling up towards the surface in increasingly hoarse voices. I glance away despondently and the tiny patch of pale brightness flits across my vision again, drawing my gaze to the ground between the wyvern's limp, outstretched claws... where a little feathered head is just visible between the creature's sprawling limbs, tilted as though in curious fascination. A white bird, the size of a small cat... the one the wyvern was hunting, that it used to lure us here... I watch it listlessly, rocking Merrill's limp body back and forth gently as she trembles in my arms. It... must have come out of the hole it was hiding in after the wyvern was dead. Perhaps that was the scratching sound I heard, the little animal scrabbling to get itself out... I can see the top of one of its little wings just above the creature's foreleg, held straight out to the side; a patch of blood staining the white feathers... the wyvern hurt it... with talons, not fangs, I suppose, or it would be poisoned too, wouldn't it, just like... just like Merrill... she wanted to help it... I suppose she did, at that...

The little bird leans forward, the shining white feathers on what I can see of its neck and shoulders puffing up as though in challenge, and delivers a sharp peck to the dead monster's snout, then skips back a step, opening its beak in a silent cry, giving a little bob of its head after a moment, as though in satisfaction on confirming the death of its pursuer. It turns suddenly to look at me and I blink slowly in surprise. There's something... odd about its head... it's too far to see clearly, but... something about the shape of it...

Merrill's body tenses and jerks once, and I snap my gaze back to her face as she gives a pained moan, though her eyes stay tightly shut. I feel my throat constrict with a sharp ache, my eyes stinging with helpless tears at the sight of her in so much pain; feel the awful agony of knowing there's nothing... nothing I can do...

A soft cheeping noise draws my attention, and I glance down, blinking blurred eyes, and see the little bundle of feathers now directly in front of me, huddled in on itself, apparently having come over to us now that its inspection of the wyvern is complete. It fixes me in one bright, round avian eye for a moment and then twists its eagle-like head, trying unsuccessfully to see Merrill's face. It gives a small cawing sound of frustration and then unfolds itself abruptly from the huddled cloak of its wings, sitting up on its haunches to plant its little front paws on my knee beneath Merrill, stretching its feathered neck up towards her, perking its pointed furry ears up curiously, tiny claws pricking my skin, its tufted tail swishing behind it...

...no... it can't be...

It is... Maker... Oh, sweet Maker, it's...

A griffon.

A pure white, tiny little baby... griffon.

My shocked intake of breath is sharp enough to draw Fenris and Anders' attention, and they are at my side in an instant.

"Hawke? What is it-" Anders begins, cutting off abruptly as the little griffon on my knee whips its head about to stare at him, feathers lifting in fright and it sinks its claws deeper into my leg, making me wince. For a few moments, nobody makes a sound, and then...

"Maker's breath..." Anders breathes, crouching slowly as the tiny creature watches him, its little beak open as it pants in fear, though it doesn't try and run, or move at all.

Fenris remains standing, one dark eyebrow quirked beneath his gleaming hair as he stares down at it. At the griffon. The baby griffon.

"I... was under the impression that such creatures were extinct," he comments, his voice pitched low and calm so as to avoid scaring the little thing further.

"As far as the Wardens know, they are, or they're supposed to be," Anders agrees. "And the Wardens ought to know." He frowns. "Although, everyone thought dragons were extinct, too, and yet how many have tried to eat us now? Two dozen? Three?"

"It seems Xenon has a rare collection indeed," Fenris intones dryly.

The little griffon flicks its gaze between the two men, watching them closely for signs of attack, and then it turns away, resettling its feathers, and resumes examining Merrill with its large, bright eyes. It seems... fascinated by her... Perhaps it remembers her trying to help it earlier, before... before... It gives another inquisitive cheep, twitching the overlarge furry ears that made its little eagle head look so strange, and then without further ado it climbs gently onto Merrill's stomach, tucking its injured, blood-splattered wing carefully against its furry side as it settles itself safely on top of her, and before I can move, let alone try and get it off her, it opens its little beak and lets out a quavering note, half bird song, half purr, almost like a melody, its pure white feathers beginning to shine with a faint, silvery light...

And almost instantly, Merrill stops shivering. I gaze down in astonishment at this tiny, impossible little miracle, watching as it sings to her, as her cheeks grow less pale and her breathing eases... sweet Andraste, he's... he's _healing_ her...

"Maker..." I whisper, staring.

The baby griffon hiccups, suddenly, and lets out a plaintive, mewling cry, stretching his injured wing out a little, his healing song forgotten, and I stir automatically to comfort him, lifting my hand slowly and running my fingers gently over his downy head, rubbing his fuzzy ears... He is clearly only a baby, after all, wounded, alone, and frightened... The tiny creature gives a little purr and curls itself into a ball, apparently slipping immediately into a deep sleep.

"In all the stories of griffons the Wardens tell, never once have I heard they possessed magic of any sort, let alone the power to heal..." Anders says wonderingly. He places two fingers gently on the pulse point at Merrill's throat, and resting his other hand flat against her ribcage to feel her breathing. "It hasn't done a great deal for her... but she seems more stable. Her heartbeat is regular."

I don't suppose the little creature really knows what he's doing, he's just a baby, but... I feel my heart leap hopefully; maybe... maybe he did do something for her... The griffon promptly begins to snore, his feathers flashing with each melodic little rumble passing though his open beak, and with every flash, I swear I can see a tiny change in Merrill; a little more colour in the cheeks, a line of pain across her brow smoothed a little, a slightly deeper breath...

I reach for the tiny spark of mana within me and channel a fraction of it into her body... next to useless, considering the pitiful amount currently available to me, but I need to know, if I can, need to see... My spirits drop a little as I feel the venom still raging throughout her body, poisoning her slowly with every heartbeat, but... the spread of it seems to have slowed significantly, her ribs are still fractured, but the broken ones are now only cracked and she has no internal bleeding... She has a real chance, now. Then... I need to get her out of here so it isn't wasted.

"The... the venom is slowing..." I manage, looking at Anders, my voice sounding oddly toneless in my ears. I think I'm... I'm in shock. "If we can just get out of here in time, get help-"

Fenris cocks his head suddenly, turning his eyes towards the shaft behind the dead wyvern. "Listen."

And now I can hear it too, the clattering rattle of chains echoing down the shaft as the lift descends, and my heart swells hopefully as the platform finally clanks into view above the still mound of dead wyvern in front of us, groaning beneath the weight of the great stone golem methodically working the lever. Oh, thank the bloody Maker!

The golem beckons silently with one giant stony hand, and I lift Merrill very carefully in my arms, and stand slowly, mindful not to press on her fractured ribs, nor overbalance the sleeping griffon, ignoring my own hurts. They aren't important.

"Let me take her, Hawke, I'll carry her," Anders says, holding out his arms, but I shake my head forcefully, drawing her carefully closer as I move towards the lift.

"No." I won't let her out of my arms. No one else will touch her.

"Shall I... remove the animal?" Fenris asks, glancing uncertainly at the little creature still curled on Merrill's stomach.

I shake my head, glancing down at him, still flashing healing light with every purring snore. "Leave him. He's healing her. I'm taking him with us," I declare firmly, stepping into the lift, cradling Merrill carefully against me as I lean against the lever frame for balance. "If Xenon objects, all the worse for him."

* * *

><p>"I do... apologiiiise... most... sincerrrrely..." Xenon croaks again as I smooth the healing salve over Merrill's wounds; a distillation of drakesvein, Andraste's Mantle and winterberry tailored to treat wyvern poison, fetched for me at Xenon's command by a frantic Urchin, once I had explained to the desiccated lump of greying flesh - in a somewhat less than calm and controlled manner - what had happened as a result of his 'help'. "I ooonly meant to keep you safe; I had no intention... of endaaaannnngering you. There is no profit... in allowing harrrrm to come to my best... cusssstomerrrrs."<p>

I barely listen to his feeble blather, leaning over Merrill as she lies unmoving on the stone bench by the walkway where I laid her, watching her face anxiously for any sign that the salve is working. After a few tense moments, a little more colour slowly comes back into her cheeks, and she gives a small, quiet sigh, as though of relief. She still doesn't wake, but her breathing becomes deep and regular; she seems to be merely asleep now, rather than unconscious. The little griffon, now curled up quietly beside her head, is engaged in gently combing her hair with his little beak, giving a soft chirrup every now and then as though in encouragement. It almost seems as though he has... imprinted on her, like a mabari. Or a duckling, perhaps.

"I am not certain a mere apology will be sufficient," Fenris intones dryly.

Xenon makes a small noise at his words; a sound that could indicate either impatient irritation or remorseful distress. I hope for his sake it's the latter."I am... immensely... repentannnnt. In the confusion of ensurrrring... that you were safely housed and commmmfortable, the wyvern's daily meal was... overlooked."

Safely bloody housed and comfortable, Maker's balls! I shoot a livid glare over my shoulder at the Antiquarian. "I'm not interested in your excuses-"

"But you _can_ feel yourrrr mana again, can you not?" he interrupts. "The potionnnn wore off as you slept, as I intended... and you did not sufferrrr the aggggonies of waiting... tooo long... Though if you had onnnly stayed in the cells for your own protection... until Thaddeus came to get you, this would not... have happened. You would have been safe." He gives a long-suffering sigh. "The young are..._ so_ impatient and immmmpetuous..."

His resentful words, suffused with a clear undertone of pitying disdain, is enough to lay down the final straw upon my already straining burden of roiling emotions, causing my tenuous hold on my temper to snap instantly. Calling a ball of fire into my palm - a feat which requires the entire meagre pool of mana I have managed to regenerate, though I find I am unable to care - I turn from Merrill, ignoring the stab of pain from my ribs and skull, and rise with my hand held threateningly before me, burning blue flames licking my fingers, their glorious warmth giving power to my words as I stare up at Xenon, snarling furiously through gritted teeth.

"Your 'help' consisted of draining us, drugging us and locking us in an underground dungeon with a hungry, venomous monster restrained with nothing but a rotting wooden door, and you consider that safe?" I give him no time to answer, working myself into a furious rage. I doubt there's anything he could say to placate me. "Merrill nearly_ died_ because of you! Give me one good reason why I should not burn this place to the ground and send your desiccated corpse into the Void to give the Maker my regards? I believe you're long overdue to put in an appearance there."

"I would not... advise... trrrrying," Xenon rumbles. "Thaddeus does not responnnnd well to threats, you know... especially when they are dirrrrected at me... Persist, and I will be forrrrced to have him... remove you from the premises..."

I growl deep in my throat, and the sound echoes about the stone chamber, sounding for all the world like the restless ghost of that Maker-blighted wyvern.

"I would not have said that, were I you, Antiquarian." Fenris comments dryly. "It is unlikely to improve your situation."

"We can put your pet rock down if need be, with or without magic," Anders says, glancing disdainfully at the golem, leaning against his staff. I reach for mine as well automatically, abruptly recalling that I left it down in that blighted hole. Merrill's too, and my belt knife. Well. They can be replaced. And I can still burn a decent hole through the madman's wizened chest should the need arise, if nothing more.

"It isn't as though we haven't faced his kind before," I agree, staring challengingly up at Xenon, feeling my anger burn more fiercely. The flames in my palm flare furiously in response. "Set him on us, and I'll remove your premises right out from under you."

He is silent for a few weighted moments before he speaks at last. "Then it seeeeems I am at your merrrrrcy. But please... calm your temperrr... for the urchin's sake, if not for mine."

I turn at his words, looking down to see Urchin crouched beside his master, gazing up at me, his eyes filled with silent pleading and fear. I gaze at the unfortunate child for a few moments, then abruptly release my mana and extinguish the flame, dropping my hand to my side with a sigh as some of my anger drains away, suddenly feeling slightly ashamed of myself. I didn't mean to scare the poor boy. I don't want to hurt him. And... well... it couldn't have been clearer that Xenon is barking mad. Having known that, I can't exactly claim to be entirely surprised that something like this would happen... I suppose... "Very well. I will attempt to restrain myself... for the moment. Though I would recommend a sign over your shop door informing your customers that they enter at their own peril."

"I shall... consider it..." he replies gravely. "I seeee your mana is no longer... dampened. I believe lyrrrrium would be able to surpass the remaining effects... of the potionnn now. I would be happy to offerrrr you a draught-"

I cut him off, scoffing disbelievingly at his words. _Really? Another potion?_ "Not on your unnatural bloody life!" As anxious as I am to recover my full reserves of mana, I'd much rather wait and get some from Anders clinic, which will be our next stop on this shipwreck of a venture. "I suddenly find myself highly suspicious of accepting any more potions from you. Can't imagine why."

"Then please... allow me to offerrrr you... recompense... for your... inconveniences today."

I feel my eyes open even wider incredulously, my anger flaring once again. "Our... inconveniences," I repeat, my voice shaking with quiet rage.

Xenon coughs nervously, sensing danger. Rightly so. "I accept... full responsibility, due to the cirrrrcumstances. And please, allow me to offerrr you a discount... on all future purrrrchases," he continues, speaking unusually quickly, his speech bauble flashing rapidly in his dry, brittle hands. "A _heavy... _discount. And accept Miss Merrill's tome... free of charge - give her the tome, Urrrchin... and the price she paid for it!" Urchin hurries off to find the tome.

"I'll take the book," I tell him flatly, "but only because Merrill wants it. I don't care about coin; all I want is to get Merrill far away from this place. You can keep your blighted discount too, I don't intend to ever need it." I glance at Anders and Fenris. "High time we saw ourselves out, I think."

Anders gestures to Merrill, looking at me questioningly. "Shall I carry her for you this time?"

I shake my head immediately; I'm not letting anyone else touch her. "No, I'll take her," I reply quickly, then glance at the little griffon, still blissfully absorbed in grooming Merrill's hair. "But would you mind...?"

He inclines his head and moves over to the bench, allowing the baby griffon to examine him cautiously before lifting it into his arms like a cat, being careful not to jostle its wounded wing. It gives a small squawk of protest as Anders straightens, twisting its head as though looking for Merrill, but Anders runs his hand gently along its furry little back, and it gradually subsides, purring gently.

"What do you think... you arrrre doing with that?" Xenon rasps angrily.

I give him a challenging look. "I will also be taking the griffon. Did I not mention that?" I'm certainly not about to leave him, not after he healed Merrill.

"Aahh..." Xenon mutters uneasily. "I'm afrrrraid I cannot let you take that, I may neverrrr... procure... another. I really must insist..."

"This animal might be the only reason Merrill is still breathing," I remind him angrily. "Which, in turn, is the only reason you are currently more or less alive. The least I can do is remove him from your - for lack of a better word - 'care'. I only wish I had the means to liberate all the other sorry creatures we saw down there. I'm taking him." I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms in challenge. "Free of charge."

Xenon is silent for a moment. "Very... very well," he mutters at last. "A gift, then... to imprrrress upon you my deepest... sincerest... regrrrretssss."

Urchin steps forward, the ancient elven tome in his hands, and offers it to me nervously. I take it from him, wishing I could manage a reassuring smile for his sake. I'd take him with me too, if I thought he would go. I pass the tome to Fenris to carry, and then I bend and gather Merrill gently into my arms, disregarding the pain in my side as I lift her carefully. She remains still, her head lolling against my shoulder, showing no awareness of her surroundings or reactions of any kind, though her wounds and her own cracked ribs would surely be causing her great pain no matter how tenderly I handle her. That she isn't responding even the slightest bit is... not encouraging... but she'll be alright, now. She has to be. She's going to be fine. I look at Anders and Fenris and then motion towards the shop door with my head, trying not to let myself become too frightened by how still and unresponsive she is. Chances are she has merely sunk into a deep, healing sleep as her body fights the venom with the antidote's help. I quicken my step along the walkway towards the lift back to Darktown, eager to get her to the clinic.

"Out of interest..." Anders comments suddenly, stopping to glance back at Xenon. "Where in Thedas did you manage find a griffon? The Wardens believe them to be extinct." He frowns. "It is a true griffon, isn't it?"

I glance back too, despite myself, letting Fenris move past me as he steps through the shop door onto the waiting lift. I'd be interested to hear Xenon's answer myself, considering griffons are supposed to have died out. The ones under Warden control, at least. And Merrill will want to hear it, once she wakes. She will wake.

"I am afrrrraid... I cannot... say," the Antiquarian intones cryptically, apparently in answer to either question, or both. "I often send Thaddeus to seek out... rare animals... for my inventory. He roams far and wide and brings back many crrrreatures... like the wyvern... but he neverrrr... tells... where he finds them. Thaddeus... is almost... as talkative as Urchin... and Urchin... neverrrr... speaks." He gives an almost sinister sort of chuckle, which rises and reverberates about the hollow chamber.

Right. Should have expected that answer. I turn away in disgust, motioning for Anders to continue into the lift ahead of me, and he nods, absently stroking the little griffons head as he steps inside. I follow him as quickly as I dare, trying not to jostle Merrill. She'll be alright. We'll get her to Anders' clinic, take some mana restoratives, and heal her. She's going to be-

I freeze completely as a memory sparks suddenly in my mind, belatedly triggered by Xenon's low, manic laughter... I heard it before... there were words, too, troubling words... right before I blacked out... I try to remember, and they suddenly spring into my mind.

_"...their blood is fresh, potent... powerful... they are the ones I need... most fortuitous indeed..."_

I glance down slowly at my left hand, curled about Merrill's thin shoulders as I hold her to me, and then I look down at her hand too, resting limply over her stomach, seeing as though for the first time the bandages tied there. On the same hand, in the same place... Small hurts; all too easily forgotten and overlooked in the wake of the wyvern's attack and Merrill's injuries, but... they can't be coincidence, surely.

_What has he done?_

"A moment, Xenon, before we leave," I say quietly, turning slowly to face him again.

"Cerrrrtainly," he replies, his voice guardedly hopeful. "What... can I do for you? Name it."

I shift Merrill carefully in my arms so that I can hold up my cut hand a little. Very pointedly. "I don't suppose you'd care to explain this?"

For a long moment, there is a ringing silence throughout the Emporium; Xenon's paralysed body somehow managing to give the impression that his stillness is now that of a hunted deer. "Ahh..." he replies at last, rather twitchily. "I am afrrrraid I don't know-"

"Merrill's hand is wounded too," I continue over him. I am uninterested in hearing protestations of innocence. "In exactly the same place. And I heard you before I lost consciousness. You said you needed our blood. You told the boy to take some. Don't try to deny it." At the dangerous tone now infusing in my voice, Fenris and Anders step out of the lift and come to stand at my back.

"Aaaahhh..." Xenon wheezes nervously. "Yes. I did..."

I feel my temper climb higher and concentrate on the feel on Merrill's warm, steady breath against my throat. I have to be calm. If he's done something to us, to her... anything that will prevent her recovery... "Any particular reason?" I ask with enforced politeness. I need to know what he's done to her first. "I warn you; it had better be bloody good."

"Nnnnothing... sinister, I assure you," Xenon mutters, sounding flustered and unconvincing.

I survey him coldly. "You'll forgive me if your assurances don't exactly leave me brimful of confidence. Tell me what you've done," I demand.

"Very well." He gives a rattling sigh. "I need... power... to sustain this form. Lyrium works well... of course... but nothing is more powerful... than... blood." He pauses briefly. "Mage blood, to be precise. Such raw, unadulterated powerrrr, the essence of both life and magic... it sustains me like nothing else. It is an old... magic..."

_Oh, blood and flames..._

"It is always the same. Always." Fenris growls behind me. "Blood magic, no matter where I turn!"

Xenon chuckles. "Blood magic? After a fashionnn... I suppose... Regardless, this old magic is capable of many things..."

"You didn't take my blood," Anders says suspiciously. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but why?"

"You are tainted," Xenon answers simply. "Unsuitable."

I am only half listening, still trying to work through this calmly. "So all of this... everything that happened to us; taking our powers, drugging us... it was all so your servant could steal our blood for you?" Maker save me, I was such a fool to trust this madman... if I had never thought to come down here, Merrill would never have been hurt... Maker save me... "You had this planned from the moment we walked in, didn't you!"

"You never truly thought the potion would work for me," Fenris accuses him angrily. "You startled the boy into dropping it on purpose."

"Then had him dose us with a soporific to incapacitate us, under the pretence of correcting your 'mistake'," Anders finishes. "So we couldn't stop you stealing Hawke's blood. And Merrill's," he adds as an afterthought.

"I required it... to survive," the Antiquarian protests defensively. "Had I requested your blood, would you have given it? I find it unlikely... no one ever has before. Not... willingly... but I have no desire to injure my customers. And no, I did nnnot plan this. When you were deprrrrived of your magical defences... such an unforrrrtunate accident... I merely took advannnntage of the unexpected... opporrrtunity. Though you woke earrrrlier than expected," Xenon grunts in displeasure. "Had all gone as I meant... had Urrrrchin given you sufficient potion to drrrrink," and at his master's disgruntled tone, the boy gulps and looks hastily at his feet, "you would have slept on... until your powers returrrrned. And Thaddeus... would have collected you from your cells... safe and unharrrrmed, and none the wiser."

I draw my breath in through my teeth in fury. "Right. Great plan. Apart from the hungry wyvern a few doors down." Merrill's steady breathing hitches momentarily and I glance at her in concern. I need to get her out of here. Now. "If I weren't so anxious for Merrill, rest assured I would not be letting this go so lightly."

"I cerrrrtainly did not intend... for little Merrill to be hurrrt. I am... trrrruly sorry. I shall make it up to you..."

"Make it up to me? Are you m-" I shake my head, cutting myself off with a dry, humourless laugh. Of course he's mad. Barking, flaming, blighting mad. What a foolish mistake to come here. I turn on my heel and stride down the walkway towards the shop entrance, cradling Merrill carefully, recalling my priorities. She needs attention first, I can deal with him later. "Nothing you could do could ever make up for this. I don't want anything from you, Xenon," I tell him dismissively over my shoulder as I step into the lift, Anders and Fenris on my heels. "Consider yourself extremely fortunate if I don't ever come back at all. Because if I do; it will be with the sole intention of burning this whole blighted place down around what remains of your desiccated ears."

* * *

><p>"Thank you for your help, Fenris," I say as we pass through the basement door at last and into the warm, cosy kitchen of my estate. Never have I been more thankful that the estate is so easily accessible from Darktown. Thank the bloody Maker I thought to bring the old cellar key with me this time. "I couldn't have managed it alone."<p>

"There is no need to thank me," Fenris replies, his deep voice accompanied harmoniously by the soft, cheeping purrs of the baby griffon perched smugly on his shoulder as he carries Merrill's tome nestled carefully in his arms. "It was my honour to aid you, Hawke."

I give him a grateful smile and move towards the hallway door. Merrill sighs quietly in my arms, her sleeping head resting against my shoulder, and I shift her gently into a more secure position, easing her slight weight a little. As light as she is, my arms are beginning to ache just a little after carrying her through the cellars all the way from Anders' clinic, as are my ribs a bit, though Anders healed them well enough once he had seen to Merrill. They still twinge a little, though I can't complain, since I refused to let Fenris take her from me. Holding her cancels out any pain, as does the knowledge that she is going to be alright, now. "This way," I tell Fenris as I lead him down the darkened hallway, heading for the front room and bedchamber wing. She needs rest, and a few more healing sessions, which I will take care of, but... she_ is_ going to be alright.

"Darling, is that you?" Mother's voice floats into the hall as Fenris and I draw near the parlour, our footsteps echoing loudly on the flagstones. I step through into the warmly lit room, and my eyes fall on Mother, sitting at the writing desk, quill and parchment in hand. "Did you come from the kitchens? I thought you and Merrill were still out; I didn't realise you were home," she says without looking up from her letter. "I'm just writing to Gisele to tell her I'm coming. Bodahn and Sandal are packing their travellers' gear, although I told them I won't be leaving until a carriage is arranged. Sandal wants to take the mabari along too; he was trying to pack him in his trunk when I left them." She laughs lightly as she turns to look at me. "I wish you'd seen how excitable they both got when I asked them to come. Apparently they are well seasoned 'adventurers'..." Her smile vanishes abruptly as she takes in the sight of me with Merrill in my arms, and then she drops her quill immediately, rising quickly to her feet. "Oh, no, what's happened?" she cries, rushing forward, concern etched into her features. "Merrill?"

"She's alright, she's just sleeping," I begin, but Mother shakes her head.

"Don't you try and give me that," she says impatiently, gesturing pointedly at the torn, bloody remnants of Merrill's tunic. "She's been hurt! What happened?"

I sigh. There's no sidestepping any issue when she employs that tone of voice. But the most important thing right now is taking care of Merrill; lengthy explanations can wait. "We were attacked by a wyvern," I tell her simply.

Mother gasps, her eyes widening incredulously. Evidently she's heard of them. "A... a wyvern? What on earth were you doing?"

"Shopping," I answer grimly. Mother blinks at me for another brief moment, and then thankfully simply sighs and nods, apparently accepting this as yet another of the strange unexplainable things that continue to befall me. "The creature was ill-fed and hungry; it got free of its... enclosure and went for us, and Merrill caught the worst of it. She killed it, though," I continue before she can question me further, the proud note in my voice masking my own anxiety.

"Oh, my little sweetheart..." she says softly, placing a gentle hand on Merrill's forehead, as though checking her for a fever. She strokes her hair soothingly, though Merrill doesn't react, still deeply asleep, her head heavy on my shoulder. "Oh, you poor, brave little thing...

"She's alright now," I assure her. "No need to worry. Anders healed her wounds, but her body is exhausted from the stress. He says she'll sleep for some time, maybe days, but she'll recover. She'll be just fine once I give her a few more healing sessions."

"A wyvern, here, in the city..." Mother murmurs to herself. "How could that be? A wyvern..."

"I need to take care of Merrill, now," I tell her, turning and head for the stairs up to the bedroom wing. Mother hovers anxiously at my side as I walk, and Fenris follows uncertainly behind us, still carrying the griffon and the tome. "Then I'll explain everything properly, I promise."

I carry Merrill across the landing towards my bedroom in an eerie echo of last night, save for the fact that she lies limp and unresponsive in my arms instead of clinging to me trustingly; her heartbeat slow and measured rather than racing in nervous anticipation; her breathing deep and quiet, not rapid with flustered excitement. I enter my chamber, minding Merrill's head as I step through the door. Mother crosses to the bed and pulls back the covers, and I lay Merrill down gently, pulling the blankets up to cover her then kneeling beside her, feeling a wave of guilt swamp me as I look down at her, her face so still and drawn...

Mother leans over Merrill, feeling her cheeks and forehead. "She's cold. I doubt the bedclothes will suffice." She glances at the unlit fire. "Darling, perhaps you should...?"

I turn immediately and cast a fireball into the well-stacked hearth at her prompt, hearing Fenris shift a little behind me as though in discomfort as I do so. I am uninterested in coddling his magic aversion at the moment, though; he'll just have to get over it.

"That will do," Mother says, nodding approvingly. She disappears into my washroom, re-emerging after a moment with a basin of water in one hand and a cloth in the other, which she places before the fire to warm before returning to the bedside. "We can get her out of those torn, stained things and give her a bit of a bath once you've given her a healing," she says, now feeling gently along Merrill's throat. "There we are, that's better. I think she's going to be just fine."

_She is. She will be._ I give Mother a small, grateful smile then turn back to Merrill, reaching for threads of creation magic, basking in the feel of my mana and its healing warmth. But before I can begin, my concentration is interrupted by the sounds of a quiet scuffle by the door; and the rustling of feathers followed by a soft curse in Arcanum. I pause briefly, but ignore them, trying again to form a healing spell, but Mother glances at Fenris with a faint look of surprise, apparently noticing his presence for the first time.

"Oh, hello, Fenris, dear. Were you involved in this, too? I do hope you're alright," she says, and frowns a little. "My, that is an interesting hat-"

I hear the griffon let out a small _peep_, and Mother gasps, then freezes, her mouth falling open, eyes wide as saucers. I turn to follow her astonished gaze, and in spite of myself immediately have to bite back a small smile at the sight of the baby griffon, which has abandoned its perch on Fenris's shoulder and is now sitting happily on top of his head, with its newly mended wings spread out to either side for balance, spoiling Fenris' dignity rather badly in the process as it gazes around my chamber with bright, inquisitive eyes.

"But... that's... just... ridiculous..." Mother manages in a whisper, staring at the small creature resolutely clinging to Fenris's head. "It can't be... it's..."

"A griffon," I finish for her, turning back to Merrill, summoning my mana once again. "Yes, well, apparently he is."

"I suppose... he got free of his enclosure, too?" Mother asks weakly.

I nod a little, not taking my eyes from Merrill's face. "In a manner of speaking."

"Assistance would be welcome," Fenris comments, trying unsuccessfully to remove the griffon from its vantage point one-handed, his left arm still burdened with the elven book.

"Here, dear, let me..." Mother says, stirring herself into action and moving forward to help him, trying to lift the tiny creature down from his head. The griffon mews loudly in protest and latches on with its little claws, apparently unwilling to relinquish his perch, causing Fenris to grunt in discomfort. "Now, that's quite enough of that, young man!" she admonishes him - the griffon - sternly, and glances back at me. "Or is it young lady?"

"It's male," I tell her absently, glancing at her as I concentrate. The spell is taking longer to form than it should, though I suppose that is the lingering influence of the blighted dampening mixture. Or perhaps it's the continued interruptions. "Anders checked. He said 'it' is just like a cat's. I didn't ask for specific details, but you get the idea."

Mother smiles grimly, turning back to the little griffon. "Good. I know _exactly_ how to deal with stubborn little boys. Bend down a little, Fenris, dear." He complies, crouching down so that Mother can reach the griffon better, and without further ado, she grabs the little creature by the scruff of the neck. He squalls in surprise as she lifts him, and he loses his grip on Fenris, who rubs ruefully at his head as he sets Merrill's cloth wrapped tome gently down on the writing table in the corner of my chamber.

"Thank you," Fenris says courteously to Mother, now holding the wriggling griffon firmly in her hands. He turns to look at me, glances briefly at Merrill, lying motionless on the bed as I stroke her hair gently, and then he looks away from both of us. "I shall take my leave, Hawke. I should return before the Guard begin patrolling the noble estates."

He has an unusually pained expression on his normally impassive face. I daresay the griffon's claws were razor sharp, tiny as they are. "I'm grateful for your help, Fenris," I thank him earnestly. "There's no need to rush off. If you wait until I take care of Merrill, I can have a look at those scratches for you."

He gazes at me for a moment, and then shakes his head, his look of discomfort intensifying. I suppose he must feel a little out of place among us at the moment. "No need to trouble yourself, Hawke; they are only minor. Not worthy of your time," he says, and inclines his head towards me and then Mother, still standing with the griffon by the fire. "Good evening to you both." He strides towards the door, apparently eager to make a hasty departure, and is gone before either of us can form a reply.

A tiny rumbling sound breaks the stillness Fenris left in his wake, disrupting my focus again, and I drop my half-completed spell, casting about irritably for the source of the noise. The baby griffon in Mother's arms utters a soft, plaintive cry, and she hushes him absently. It must have been his stomach growling; he must be starving, poor creature.

"Would you mind taking care of him for me while I work?" I ask her. There isn't anything more she can do for Merrill, and he needs to be seen to. And I need to work without further disturbance. "He needs something to eat and then to rest; his wing was hurt. Anders healed it, but he really ought to sleep and recover."

"You mean to keep him then?" she asks, although her tone is not a questioning one. She already knows what my answer will be.

"Oh, yes, I rather think so." I owe the tiny creature that much after what he did for Merrill, and even if he had done nothing, I would have kept him anyway, who would not? And perhaps he can sing to her again, once he's rested, help her recover more quickly... _A real, live griffon... Merrill will be thrilled. Oh, please wake soon, my love. You need to see this._

Mother nods in acceptance, looking pleased, holding the little griffon firmly as he squirms impatiently, rather like a puppy. "Now, now. None of that, please, young man." He stills and chirps apologetically, assuming a cowed expression, and she smiles fondly at him. "Oh, my, he is a sweet one, isn't he? I'll take him to the kitchens, get him cleaned up and fed." The griffon opens his little beak in a wide, silent yawn, and tucks his head beneath her chin, apparently making himself right at home. "And find him somewhere to sleep, of course," she continues wryly, stroking his feathered shoulders as he purrs softly.

"He can sleep in here, by the fire. Merrill will want to see him, when she wakes. Don't name him, yet, though. I want to let her give him one." I turn back to Merrill, smoothing the covers over her chest, watching as the warmth of the fire slowly brings more colour into her cheeks. "She always wanted a baby griffon."

"Then he must have been a gift from the Maker, just for her," Mother smiles, returning to the bedside to run a gentle hand tenderly over Merrill's hair. "Feel better soon, sweetheart. You're in good hands."

She smiles at me encouragingly, and then leaves for the kitchens, the sleepy little legendary creature nestled safely in her arms; by far the strangest addition to our growing family, if not the most wonderful. That distinction belongs to Merrill alone. I gaze at her, stroking her cheek gently as I weave my spell anew. "It's alright now. I'm here. I'm going to take care of you," I whisper, and then lean down to kiss her, very gently. She gives a tiny sigh as my mouth brushes hers and her lips move ever-so-slightly at the touch of mine, just for a moment, before she falls still and silent again. Nevertheless, it's an encouraging sign, and I feel my spirits lift as I summon my mana to cleanse the remaining traces of poison from her veins, placing one hand gently on her forehead, and the other over her heart, mindful of her newly healed wounds, sending love and healing fire through my fingertips into her small body. She stirs again, gasping quietly as my magic fills her, a small, delighted smile of pleasure flitting across her face, and my heart gives a hopeful jolt at the sight.

"You're going to be fine, my heart," I tell her quietly, and she sighs again, as though some part of her hears me, and is comforted by my words. "I'm so sorry I didn't keep you safe," I murmur softly, pressing my hand a little more firmly over her heart, feeling the wonderful beat beneath my fingers as her pulse strengthens beneath my power, my touch. My love. She's going to be alright, now. I'll make sure of it. "I will never fail you again." _Never again, my love, my heart, my hope. I promise._ She smiles in her sleep as I chase the last of the venom from her body, and my heart skips a beat at the peaceful beauty of her quiescent features. I withdraw my magic from her slowly, carefully, and then lean down to press a gentle kiss to her delicate brow.

She's going to be alright.

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><p><span>Elvish used:<span>

_Suledin, tel'numin_ - (roughly) Endurance, not tears.


	18. Chapter 18

_Next chapter is up... in which Merrill meets Feathers! Apart from baby griffon hi-jinx and fluffiness, this is otherwise a comfort chapter, since you've already seen the hurt. Also, it was suggested by Talitha2 that I write a little something more about Merrill's vallaslin, which I thought was a good idea, so there's a bit of that in here too. And the Fade dream part might seem unnecessary but it's building up to something later. Otherwise its just a whole chapter of Hawke and Merrill... more rambling conversations and fluff and romance... especially towards the end, and then you'll see the reason why this chapter took me so long to get right, again... and the reason I feel the need to remind you that this fic is rated M. This chapter is far from perfect but I've started a new job with strange (often very long and early) hours, and I'm getting anxious about not posting it so it's going up, but I will be tweaking it... when I have time and/or am awake. So keep that in mind when reading it. And thanks again to everyone for R&R-ing and pushing me past 100 reviews, yay!_

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><p>xxx M xxx<p>

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><p>The magic fills me, spreading through my body... lying back in the waking world, I suppose... familiar magic, warmth and healing and love... I can feel it, even here. It's her magic, this time, I know it so well... such a wonderful feeling, when she fills me with her mana, her spirit... her soul...<p>

... _You're going to be fine, my heart_...

Hawke?

I... I heard her... didn't I? But... I can't see her... I can't see anything... I can't speak, or move... Am I asleep, then? But... where am I now? Where is this... this nowhere place? It's so dark... the Beyond is never so dark... why is there no light? Why am I here? And if I'm dreaming, then where is Hawke? If I am sleeping, then surely she would be too, and... and if she is, then... she would be with me... why isn't she with me? She wouldn't leave me... here... wherever 'here' is...

_... I'm so sorry I didn't keep you safe..._

There... again... I keep... keep hearing her voice, or... or I think I do, but... she isn't here... Where is she?

I'm all alone...

If... if I'm not awake... but I'm not... in the Beyond, then... then where am I?

Not... not beyond the Veil... surely? I can't be. It wouldn't just be darkness... would it? I... I'm not... dead, am I?

No... I can't be...

... but... maybe I am... and that whisper in the distance is... is Falon'Din, the guide of souls, coming to take me... across the Veil...

Oh, no...

Oh, Hawke... I'm so _sorry_...

All at once the crushing blackness shifts about me, a bright light suddenly gleaming in the distance... misty, ethereal... it's the Fade, I'm sure of it... So... I'm not dead? Oh, thank the Creators! Am I waking, now, then? But... I can't move... this isn't right at all...

_... I will never fail you again..._

Hawke?

The light before me dances, just a pinprick of colour in the darkness, coming closer and closer, but slowly... so slowly... there is no time, in this place, but it feels like hours as it slowly draws near... until at last the Fade light enfolds me, surrounds me, warm and bright as it chases the shadows away... and then world shapes itself around me, bulging and twisting and forming a... a familiar scene. It is the alienage, and yet... not. There is... a haze, over everything... and strange broken pieces of buildings, just sort of... suspended in the sky. This looks more like the Fade, now. I _am_ in the Fade. I must be... inside a memory pulled from my mind... that's what the Beyond becomes, after all, isn't it? Echoes of life, memories drawn from sleeping minds... but... why can't I move? I should be in control of my spirit, here... all mages are... so why aren't I? Why... why can't I wake? Where is Hawke? The strange vision of the alienage suddenly pulls at me insistently, as though it is... it is drawing me inside my own awareness... but trapping me within; unable to move, to speak, even to think beyond the confines of this memory, _my _memory, caged within a corner of my own mind, watching, seeing, thinking, feeling everything just the same... just as I remember...

I... I remember this... I...

I...

_... I gaze about in a sort of... stunned silence at the miserable-looking people, the dirty, run-down buildings and the tattered, filthy banners clinging shabbily to the crumbling, moss-covered walls of this... corral, this halla-pen. This elf-enclosure, built to segregate the desolate remnants of a once-proud race away from the humans, safely out of sight, out of mind... I shake my head, trying to dispel my anger and sadness and bitter thoughts, but I can't seem to make them go away. This is just... it's so wrong! Isn't it? How can the city elves just submit to treatment like this? They just let the humans keep them here, let them treat them like dirt, like nothing. And the worst part is that not one seems to care; not the elves, and certainly not the humans... _

_Well... alright, now, maybe that's not exactly true. I haven't been inside the city for more than an hour, at the most, so really, I... I can hardly make such a judgement based on what little I've seen so far, after all, can I? And besides... at least one of the humans does seem to care, after all. The shemlen woman... Hawke, she's... she's certainly not like what I expected a human to be like, not at all, is she? Not even a tiny bit. She's been nothing but patient and friendly and accepting. Welcoming. She's quite... wonderful, really._

_I mean... for a shemlen, anyway..._

_I watch Hawke speaking quietly with a grizzled and very stern looking old elven man, standing by the giant tree right in the middle of the big open space between the houses. The vhenadahl. Tree of the People. That's... that's something familiar, at least... Pol told me about them, I remember. He said that most alienages have them, or the one in Denerim did, anyway. They are symbols of what the elves once were, and what we've lost, but... also of hope. A great tree growing in the middle of a city, surviving despite odds and abuse, triumphing over adversity, standing straight, and proud, and tall... Only... only none of the elves I can see at the moment seem anything of the sort. They're all sort of... sad, and thin, with worn, tired eyes. They look... beaten. Defeated. Resigned. Not at all like the strong, noble people they ought to be, and certainly nothing compared to the regal wisdom of the Keeper, or the brave, quiet strength of the clan hunters, like Fenarel, or Junar. Or... or Tamlen... and Mahariel... _

_Oh, I miss you, lethallan..._

... Merrill? Merrill... where are you?...

_What... what was that? Another whisper on the wind... it sounded so lost... but... I know that voice... don't I?_

_... Hawke? _

_"Merrill?"_

_I blink, suddenly recalled back to myself as Hawke finishes her conversation with the man I assume to be the hahren, and walks back over to me._

_"The alienage leader tells me this house is free," Hawke says kindly as she rests a gentle hand on my shoulder, guiding me over to the little hovel on the corner. I look at it without real interest; such a strange thing to think of, a home that doesn't move. With only one person living inside. Alone. "I asked if there was anything available in the square. I thought you might like somewhere close to the big tree, here," Hawke continues as I continue to stare in silence at the house... my house. I process her words slowly, belatedly feeling strangely touched as I realise how thoughtfully she tried to take care of me. A... house... by the vhenadahl... that might be nice... She really is a very kind sort of shem, isn't she? "A little bit of greenery, you know, to... ease the transition, I suppose," she finishes, and nods towards the hahren's retreating back as he disappears out of sight around a corner. "The leader said he will call on you later once you've had time to settle in; to talk with you about alienage life, and help you... adjust." _

_Adjust. Yes. This... this will take quite a bit of adjusting, won't it? I will... I will just have to... get used to it, I suppose. This was my choice, after all, but... this... this is not what imagined. Even with all of Pol's stories, nothing could have prepared me for this... place. _

_I feel Hawke press her fingers a little more firmly against my shoulder. "Are you... alright, Merrill?" she asks gently. "I know this can't be easy for you." _

_No. It isn't. I... I didn't exactly think it would be, of course but... still..._

_"Elgar'nan..." I whisper quietly to myself. I turn to Hawke, her blue eyes gazing worriedly into mine as I look at her in disbelief, speaking the first words I've been able to manage since entering the city gates. "Is this... is this really where the elves live?"_

_She nods once; sorrow and sympathy creeping into her piercing eyes. "Yes... I'm afraid it is," she says sadly. She drops her hand from my shoulder to rub at the back of her neck. Perhaps it's sore? It has good reason to be, I suppose, after today. We had to do quite a bit of walking after all, and fighting too, of course... Hawke gives a little shrug and attempts a weak smile. "Supposedly there are worse alienages. I don't see how though, unless they're constantly on fire."_

_That's... that's sarcasm again... right? So she doesn't really mean it? It's just... a bit hard to tell right now, because... from the look of this place, she might well be right. "I didn't think it would be so... so..." I begin, faltering to a halt as I fail to find a way to describe what I see about me. At least, in a way that doesn't make me seem utterly ungrateful. None of this is her fault, after all, and she's been so kind... I pull my gaze from hers to stare about the sorry-looking square. "I've never seen so many people in one place before." I watch them for a moment, all these people scurrying about, all of them going about their business and completely ignoring the stranger in their midst, as though a new elf coming to live amongst them were about as interesting as watching the vhenadahl grow... "It seems so lonely."_

_"You're not alone, Merrill," Hawke says seriously, and I turn at the sweet sound of her quiet words. There is just something so... wonderfully reassuring in her lovely voice. It really is a nice voice... Hawke holds my eyes. "You already know me. You'll make other friends soon enough."_

_I blink at her, at a sudden loss for words. But that... that sounds like she means... she already thinks of herself as my friend. She... she is very kind to say so. "I... Thank you," I manage at last. "I... I could never have come here on my own. I've never been to a human settlement of any size before, let alone a city... I never imagined it would be like... this."_

_"It can be a lot to take in," she agrees, and favours me with a gentle smile. "If it helps, think of it as... an adventure."_

_I try for a small, wry laugh and fail miserably. "Some adventurer I am. Barely set out, and I'm already daunted."_

_She shakes her head. "Oh, I don't know about that," she says softly. "I think you're doing remarkably well, considering what a culture shock this must be for you."_

_I manage a smile at that, a small one, anyway. She really is very kind. I think I'm very lucky she was the one to bring me here. And fortunate that she's been good enough to put up with it, too, especially considering what a difficult day it's been, what with the skeletons, and giant spiders and things, and fighting all the way up the mountain, and then Asha'bellanar's amulet unexpectedly turning into Asha'bellanar herself, who then even more unexpectedly turned herself into a dragon... after leaving us with some very cryptic words. What was it she said to me, exactly? 'No path is darker than when your eyes are shut...' That was it. What in Mythal's name did she mean by that? Does she... does she know about what I'm doing? With... with the mirror? But how could she? And even if she does, somehow... my eyes are_ not_ shut. I may not know everything about eluvians, or... or blood magic... but I know what I am doing with the shard, at least for the moment. Perhaps I should have asked the Witch what she knew, exactly... no, that's a foolish thought. I never could have summoned the courage to ask her more, even when she addressed me directly. Not like Hawke. The human spoke to Asha'bellanar without any sort of fear, or even awe. She even cheeked her a few times! Cheeked Asha'bellanar! As though she was nothing more powerful or intimidating than a rather batty and eccentric old woman out for a stroll on the mountaintop! And after everything I told her about what is supposed to happen to anyone unlucky enough to cross the Witch's path. Strange that Asha'bellanar didn't even seem to mind at all, though; she seemed indulgent of Hawke's behaviour, fond, even. She also seemed to think Hawke has some sort of destiny before her... although it was quite hard to tell; not a lot of what she was saying made any sort of sense, at least as far as I could make out. Still... this human is sweet, and kind, and funny, and clever... and Asha'bellanar spoke to her almost... as an equal. I think she must be a remarkable sort of person indeed, this human, this... Hawke. _

_I hope I'll see more of her._

_I look at the brave, kind, beautiful human woman going well out of her way to help some foolish, rambling, shy little elf she only just met, and my heart swells with gratitude. "Thank you, Hawke," I tell her quietly, but with feeling. "For everything. For all your help." _

_Hawke inclines her head gracefully, smiling kindly. Her eyes sparkle with light. Suddenly I want very much for her to stay with me, just a little longer, at least. Although... I'm not likely to be very good company right now, not the way I'm feeling. But... I... I don't want to be alone. I've never... never been on my own, before, not without the clan being right near by... but... oh, dear, now I can feel a miserable lump trying to rise in my throat, all of a sudden... I push it down quickly, but I don't know how much longer I can hold it back, and I can't let go in front of her, I can't burden her with my sorrow on top of everything else she's had to do for me today. It wasn't even part of her bargain with Asha'bellanar to take me with her to Kirkwall; the Keeper sort of snuck that in, somehow. She is very crafty. But Hawke did as she asked anyway, without complaint. And she's been so patient and kind; bringing me here to the city and helping me carry my pack, buying a few days worth of food and supplies as though thinking nothing of it, even taking me right into the alienage so she could speak to the elves here on my behalf about finding me somewhere to stay, while her brother and the stern red-haired shemlen woman and_ the durgen'len man with the crossbow_ went home at her request, so I wouldn't feel even more crowded, she said... And on the mountain, at that strange barrier before the graveyard, when I... I had to get it open with blood magic... well, she didn't seem to approve, exactly, but she also didn't try to stop me, or argue about it, or attack me, or anything. And it didn't change the way she treated me afterwards. She even healed my wrist for me... the touch of her magic was so warm, and gentle... She's been so understanding and kind, but... I should let her go for now, anyway. She ought to rest, and I... I will need a little time myself, truth be told. To adjust. _

_Still..._

_"Will you come visit me?" I blurt out suddenly, hopefully. She lifts her eyebrows slightly in surprise, and I wave my hands placatingly in front of me as I continue on hurriedly. "Not now, of course! But maybe later? I could use a friend."_

_I watch Hawke anxiously for her reaction and am astonished when her face lights up at my sudden request, making her look lovelier than ever. "Of course!" she laughs, her eyes dancing merrily. "But only because you used that; "You kicked my puppy" voice. Who could possibly resist?" She smiles at me gently. "Really, though, all joking aside... I'd love to visit you, Merrill. Actually, I... I feel like we're friends already. Lucky for you," she murmurs, stepping closer. To speak so that only I can hear her, I'm sure, but... it's... distracting, for some reason... she's so close I can feel her warmth... catch her scent... elfroot and Andraste's Grace and crushed pine needles, a hint of mabari and sun-warmed earth, and summer rain, too... her scent is like Ferelden, like... like... home. Curious... "You're going to have to learn how apostates in human settlements avoid the notice of the Templars," she continues, her voice low and soft, and I give my head a little shake and focus on her words again, properly this time. "And since I've been evading them all my life, well, that makes me your new best friend."_

_Best...? So... she does want to be friends, then? Oh, I hope so! I beam at her. "Thank you. Oh, I'm thanking you too much, aren't I? I mean it, though."_

_She smiles at me again. "You're very welcome, Merrill. And listen..." _

... Merrill? Can you hear me?...

_...Hawke pauses, and then walks over to the edge of the square, standing right near all of those rusty metal spikes which seem to be there to stop people falling into the water below and drowning. Which is good, I suppose. They still give the whole place a very sinister sort of feel, though. Hawke turns, looking at me, and I suddenly realise she meant for me to follow her. Oh! I hurry over and she smiles, then turns to point up at the landing past the alienage stairs. "See that street right up there, the first right turn out of the alienage? Follow that along right to the end, where it opens into the square. The house on the left hand side of the street, up the steps on the corner, is my uncle's house. That's where I live." _

_Really? But she's so close! That does make me feel a little better. _

_A lot better, actually... _

_Hawke faces me again, a serious look on her face. "If you ever need anything; food, clothes, coin, or you need questions answered, or you just want company, anything at all... then come and see me, anytime. If I'm not there, then my mother or brother probably will be; they'll keep you company until I get home. I'll tell them to expect you." Her mouth twists into an uncomfortable grimace for a moment. "Though if a grumpy, slightly greasy, rather ripe-smelling old man answers when you knock, you should probably come back later. My uncle is... a difficult man. I don't want him... harassing you. Don't let that put you off from coming by, though." She looks into my eyes. "Promise me you'll ask for my help, if you ever need it."_

_Oh... she doesn't have to do that! I mean, she does seem very nice and all, it's just... why would a human be so interested in helping an elf; any more that she had to, anyway? She can't really mean it, though, surely... But then, she does sound very earnest. Obviously she takes her responsibilities very seriously, even though I'm pretty sure all Marethari asked her to do was bring me here. I feel bad enough about that; she doesn't have to keep going to all this trouble over me..._

... Merrill, please... answer me... Merrill...

_I blink a little in confusion for a moment. Did she... did she say my name, just now? She must have, there's no one else here, and it certainly sounded like her... although it was strangely faint, and sort of far away... oh, Hawke is looking at me expectantly, now, am I supposed to be doing something? Some sort of human farewell custom I'm not familiar with, or- oh, no, wait... she asked me something, didn't she? What was it? Oh... right... to promise her... promise her I'd call on her for help, if I need it. She really doesn't have to do that... but then, I don't really want to refuse her offer. I would certainly like being allowed to ask her for help, and I... __I would very much like to see her again, I think._

_"I will," I tell her. "I promise. Thank you, Hawke... again." She smiles at me, and I feel a sudden warmth spreading through my chest at the sight. What _is_ this... feeling? It's like... there's just something about her that makes me feel... wonderful. As though everything is going to be alright, as long as she is here. _

_If I do need anything, though... maybe I should wait and see if she comes to visit, first, just to see if she will, if she actually wants to. If she doesn't, then I'll know she'd rather I just took care of myself, now that she's brought me here. I'd like to make sure she's not just being polite; I wouldn't want to be a burden on her. And Mythal only knows if I'll actually be able to find her house on my own. It sounded simple enough, the way she said it, but... everything looks the same, here, and I don't want to get lost... _

_I pick up my pack and the bag of food and things she bought me, turning to go into the house... no, _my_ house... but before I turn away completely, I feel a light touch on my wrist, and I look back at her for a moment, questioningly. "What is it? Did I forget something?"_

_"No." Hawke smiles at me again, and her whole being seems to shine with the... the beauty of it... I can only stare at her silently in wonder... the light in her brilliant blue eyes is so bright, so lovely, piercing into my soul... _

... Please, love... I can't find you...

_Love? _

_Yes... I'm her love... and she is my heart..._

_My Hawke..._

_... "No, Merrill," she says softly, seriously. "You didn't forget anything, I just... I wanted to say... you're going to be alright, you know." She doesn't seem to expect an answer, which is good, because my throat is suddenly so tight I doubt I could manage one. She just smiles again. "I mean it. You are. And remember; anything you need, you come to me. I'll take care of you. You're going to be alright," she repeats. _

_I feel my mouth curve in somewhat tremulous smile of gratitude, which she returns, and then she gives me a little wave as she turns to leave the alienage. She walks slowly towards the stairs, stopping for a moment and glancing back at me once with another smile and a lingering look, before she turns away, mounting the steps and walking round the corner out of sight. _

_I suddenly feel very lonely, without her..._

... Merrill...where are you...

_... and then the dappled sunlight beneath the vhenadahl tree suddenly wavers as the memory fades around me and collapses into black shadow... replaced by a red, warm glow on the backs of my eyelids... and the warm touch of satin on my skin as I leave the Beyond at last..._

... and open my eyes slowly, sleepily, to a world that is... out of focus, blurry, I can't see... where... am I? I'm warm, and comfortable... but I wasn't before, I... was cold... in pain... But... I feel a lot better now... though... that was... a very strange dream... but then, it wasn't really like a dream at all, was it? It was my memory... and I was watching from inside myself... how strange. That's never happened to me in the Fade before... but that's what it was. I remember it all so clearly, and that's just how it happened... coming to the alienage for the first time... with Hawke...

Hawke... she was... calling for me, in the... the dream... I... Why... why was I asleep? I try to force my foggy mind to think... to remember... The Emporium... Xenon... the... the wyvern... Hawke... Hawke was hurt! But... then she was holding me... I remember... she was alright, but...I was... in pain...

_I_ was hurt...

Badly.

Oh...

I open my eyes wider, trying to see her as my vision clears slowly, and I'm... in a bed, Hawke's bed. No... _our _bed... in _our_ room. Looking up at the patterned wood of the canopy above me, lying on my back beneath the warm covers... safe, and comfortable...

But where... where is my Hawke?

I turn my head slowly and there she is, lying right beside me on top of the covers... still in the clothes she wore to the Emporium, boots and all. Her eyes are closed, her breathing deep, and slow... she's sleeping, curled in a ball on her side... her fingers lying less than an inch from mine where my arm rests on top of the blankets, as though... as though she fell asleep holding my hand...

_Oh, Hawke..._

I study her sleeping face through heavily lidded eyes. It... doesn't look like a peaceful sleep, at all... her eyelids fluttering restlessly... a small frown tugging at the corners of her lips... a tiny worried crease between her dark, graceful brows...

"Merrill?" she whispers, her voice faint and frantic, and my heart clenches at the distress in her voice. Oh, ma vhenan... She's worried about me... I... heard her voice in the memory, the dream... searching for me across the Fade... she must still be there, looking for me... Why couldn't she find me? We've always found each other there before...

Hawke makes a soft, wordless sound of distress in her sleep and I force myself into full wakefulness, trying to sit up, to move closer to her, but I can't... can't quite manage it. My body doesn't seem to want to obey me, yet, my bones aching, my muscles and stiff and sore... I settle for reaching out to her, once I remember how to lift my arm, placing a hand gently on her head and stroking her hair, then smoothing away the little line of worry on her forehead with a fingertip. It has no right to be there. I'm alright now. At least, I think I am. She shouldn't be worried...

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out; my throat is too dry. I breathe in deeply, give a few weak coughs and try again. "M-ma vhenan..." I whisper, surprised at how soft and cracked my voice is. She stirs a little, beginning to wake at my touch, and I cup her cheek, giving her a weak smile as her eyes blink open. "Hush. I'm here... it's a-alright."

Hawke stares at me for just a moment, and then her mouth curves in a wondrous smile, lighting her whole face with its beauty. She sits up a little, raising trembling fingers to touch my hand where it lies against her cheek... and then in the next moment her face is streaming with a river of tears. "Oh... _Merrill_..." she sobs, her voice breaking as she whispers my name.

"Hawke?" I ask worriedly. "W-why... why are you crying?"

She gives her head a small shake, turning her head to kiss my palm, the shining trails of wetness on her cheeks glinting in the light of the fire. "You're awake..." she manages at last, smiling through her sobs.

So... she's crying because I woke up? Crying... out of happiness, then? Is that... a thing? I smile back gently, wiping away her tears. "Yes... I am. But that's good, though, isn't it?"

She gives a wet sort of laugh and nods. "Oh, yes," she whispers fervently, "It's _wonderful_. I was just..." Her words suddenly leave her in a hurried rush. "You seemed alright, but then when I tried to find your spirit in the Fade, and I couldn't... I thought... something might be wrong, that you wouldn't..." She bites back her next words as though afraid to say them aloud and starts again. "I couldn't find you. I looked for you, I looked everywhere, and I called, but..."

"I know, I-" I start to say, and then cough as my words catch in my dry, parched throat. Hawke reaches for a cup of water on the table by the bed and then lifts me up a little with her other arm, supporting me as she holds it up for me to drink. I sip the water greedily until the cup is drained and empty, smiling gratefully at her as she puts it away and lays me back down, very gently.

"I heard you calling for me, but... I couldn't answer," I continue once I'm able to speak again.

A little frown appears on Hawke's face as she processes my words, gazing at me with wide, worried eyes. "You heard me in the Fade, but you couldn't reply?" I nod, and her frown deepens. "Why not? Weren't you aware?"

I start to shake my head, and then pause, considering. "I was at first, I think, but then... I wasn't, anymore. Not exactly."

"But... what happened, then?" Hawke asks, looking confused. "Where were you?"

"I was... in a memory, I think," I say slowly. "Like... like the Fade pulled a whole, complete memory from my mind, instead of just bits and pieces of places or people like normal. I was... reliving it exactly, every sight, every sound... even every thought and feeling. But I couldn't leave if I wanted to, or move freely at all as I usually would. That's never happened before." I pause for a moment, recovering my breath for a moment. "But then, I've never gone into the Beyond when I was so drained before, either. The Keeper made sure I never did. She said that without the touch of magic in my blood, I would be unable to have any influence over my surroundings or myself in the Fade, and make it harder to protect myself from the Fade spirits. I suppose this must have been what she meant."

Hawke's eyes fill with worry. "Maker, I didn't think... You weren't troubled by any demons, were you?" I shake my head quickly to reassure her, and she sighs in relief. "Good." She strokes my hair gently, a very thoughtful expression on her face. "I'd never even thought about what would happen if I entered the Fade without mana. I've never gone to sleep without at least a spark of it." She grimaces. "Well, except for when Xenon drugged us, but that was different. He said the potion would specifically prevent dreams. What you describe sounds like what non-mages are supposed to see when they sleep; dreams built mostly of their memories."

I nod. "Except I can still remember it." It's so strange to think that non-mages don't remember most of their time in the Fade, apart from really strong dreams, I suppose. Except for dwarves, of course, who don't go into the Fade at all when they sleep. I wonder if that makes sleeping any more peaceful for them? All non-magical people, I mean, not just dwarves. Without the threat of demonic possession, I suppose it would.

"Was it a dream of a good memory, at least?" Hawke asks, interrupting my inner ramblings.

I hesitate only for a moment. I am... not certain how to answer that. It was... a memory of an uncertain, frightening time, having to leave the clan to live amongst shemlens... I think I felt those feelings in the dream, but... I don't remember them now.

There was only Hawke.

"Yes, ma vhenan," I tell her softly. "It was a memory of you."

Her eyes dance with light as she smiles at me. "Oh, Maker, I love your sweetness," she says quietly. "I'm so happy you're alright."

That would be thanks to her, I'm sure. "Because of you, Hawke."

Her smile falters a little, but she covers it up quickly by kissing my forehead, tilting her head at me as she pulls back, and I find myself distracted by how... how lovely and cute she looks, with her hair falling in her eyes like that... "You'll probably need more rest, soon," she says suddenly. "It should be safe; it's been almost a night and a day since... well, your mana should have regenerated a bit by now. Can you feel it at all?"

My eyes widen at her words; how could I not have checked already? I reach hurriedly for my mana and smile as I feel the tingling warmth of it deep inside me. Or some of it, at least. Not much, but... I suppose my body felt that healing itself was more important than regenerating mana. Which I suppose is fair. As long as that horrible potion has worn off, and I'm all better, or almost anyway, I should get the rest back soon enough. But just to feel even a little... oh, it's _wonderful..._

"I'll take your blissful expression of unadulterated happiness as a 'yes'," Hawke grins, and I giggle.

"Yes, Hawke, I can feel it! A little, at least."

Hawke nods, looking relieved. "Good." Her smile dims a little, and her eyes grow serious. "I've been so scared, Merrill," she says quietly. "Anders told me you would sleep deeply, but when I couldn't find you in the Fade..." She breaks off, a distressed look on her face, and I reach up to touch her hair, stroking the soft strands comfortingly with my fingertips. She smiles a little as I do so. "I thought... maybe your spirit had... gone on, beyond the Veil. I've... seen it happen before, when someone is very badly injured or ill. They just seem to be sleeping, but they never wake up, and eventually they just... fade away." She grimaces slightly. "For lack of a better phrase."

I smile at her gently, wanting to reassure her. "I'm alright, ma vhenan," I tell her softly. "I feel a lot better already. And I am certainly not planning on going anywhere, least of all the Fade if I can... can help it..."

But my body betrays me almost as soon as I finish speaking and I yawn the last words, finding it very hard to keep my eyes open as a sudden wave of deep exhaustion washes over me... Oh... I suppose I do need more rest... Hawke was right... of course she was... she's the healer, she should know...

Hawke presses her hand to my cheek and I feel her magic moving through me, weaving around me like warm strands of silk and sunlight, cradling me, embracing me, lulling me... it doesn't feel like a healing, though... it feels entropic, like... like... some sort of sleeping spell?

"Hawke? You're... what... what are you...?" My words disappear into another yawn, and Hawke smooths her other hand over my hair.

"Shh, it's alright," she whispers. "You clearly still need more sleep, to recover your strength. I'm just making it so you won't dream while you do. I should have done this before; maybe then you would have been better rested, without any odd memory-dream... things... interrupting."

I blink at her slowly as her spell takes hold. She's right, I suppose... I do need more sleep... I just don't want to be apart from her. But if... if I have some of my mana back, now, then I will be in the Fade properly, won't I? And she will be able to find me, this time, when she sleeps...

"Alright..." I manage, my voice growing faint with drowsiness. "But you... you should sleep more, too... I... I will wait for you... in the Beyond..."

She shakes her head, growing blurry in my vision as my eyelids grow heavier. "I'm keeping you out of the Fade, so none of the demons there will be able to find you. You'll be safe that way, while you rest," she explains. I... I won't see her? I make a small worried noise in the back of my throat, and she strokes my cheek reassuringly. "Don't worry. You'll probably sleep for longer, this time, but you won't even know it. And I will be right here when you wake up, my love. I promise."

Well... alright, then. It's probably a bit late to try and argue, now... and I can't... keep my eyes open any longer, anyway... I let them close, breathing slow, and deeply... slipping into the darkness... soft lips brush my temple... then...

* * *

><p>The firelight wakes me... sparks of red and gold, dancing beneath my eyelids... teasing them open, calling me back into wakefulness. I'm still in bed, as though I haven't moved at all... but now I'm... naked? Yes, definitely naked... Not that I mind<em> that<em> at all, of course. At least, not so long as Hawke is taking care of me... that just makes it sort of... intriguing, really...

I feel... very well rested, now, as though I've slept for hours, but it feels like no time has passed at all, just like she said...

I blink my eyes slowly to clear them, searching for her, and my heart gives a happy jolt as I see her kneeling by the fire, dressed in just her house robe, now, and barefoot. She is scratching her sweet old dog absently behind the ears with one hand as she bends over a small woven basket on the floor beside him. I wonder what could be inside... I try to look, straining my eyes and ears for some sort of clue... and for a moment I hear an odd sound, sort of like the ruffling of... feathers? But... no... that can't be right, surely, where would that noise be coming from? I must have just imagined it, I suppose...

I forget all about the mysterious basket as Hawke suddenly turns, as though sensing me watching her, glancing over her shoulder with her wonderful, glorious eyes of azure flame... and the smile she gives me as she meets my gaze just melts my heart completely.

I clutch the blankets to my chest, keeping myself covered for warmth as I sit up cautiously, expecting to feel that same stiffness and soreness as before, but it doesn't come. I feel... much better, now. Almost normal, actually. Hawke rises in one fluid motion, moving quickly over to the bedside and sitting on the edge. She very carefully wraps her arms about me, supporting me with one hand buried in my hair, cradling my head, the other stroking gently over the bare skin of my back, and I lean into her, hugging her back as hard as I can, resting my head against her chest as her arms tighten about me, holding me close, and safe.

"How are you feeling?" she asks softly, her warm fingers running through my hair before coming to rest tenderly against the nape of my neck, stroking gently.

"Much better, ma vhenan," I tell her softly, my voice sounding small and raspy, as though from a very long silence. I must have been asleep for much longer, this time, like she thought I would. I hope I haven't been too much of a burden on her... I lean back a little, giving her a careful examination. Her face has a distinct pallor I don't like the look of one bit, and there are very dark shadows beneath her eyes. Is she unwell? She was injured too, after all. That wyvern knocked her down and hurt her ribs badly, I know it did, and then when it threw her... that awful crack as her head met the wall... I know she would have been healed by now, by herself or Anders but still... "What about you?" I ask anxiously. "You still look very pale, Hawke. Are you all right? I should have asked before, you hit your head very badly, after all, and-"

Hawke raises a hand and gently traces her fingertips over my cheek, coming to rest against my lips. "Shh, I'm fine, love. Don't you worry about me. If I'm pale it's only because I've not been outside for a while."

I give her a slightly reproving look. "So you forgot to look after yourself, because you were taking care of me, I suppose?" She smiles sheepishly, and I have my answer. I shake my head at her a little, feeling my heart warm inside me even as I do. I'll never deserve her. "How long was I sleeping for this time, then?"

"A few days."

I feel my eyebrows lift in surprise. "Days? Really?" She nods, and I blink, still not quite believing it. How can anyone need so much sleep? "Oh." My stomach chooses that moment to give an insistent and very timely rumble, and I bite my lip, blushing. I suppose it must have been days, after all, then. "I... think I'm hungry."

She smiles. "So it seems. And well you should be." She glances over her shoulder at the fireplace, where I can see a little iron kettle suspended over the roaring flames. "I've been giving you broth, but you've only been able to drink a little at a time. I couldn't risk giving you too much when you weren't conscious enough to take it in properly." Hawke draws me back towards her, holding me to her again, and I lean my head against her shoulder as she reaches behind me, propping up the pillows at my back. She gently lowers me to rest against them so I am almost sitting up, tucking the sheets and blankets more securely about my chest, and then reaches over and takes a small bottle from the bedside table. "Let me give you this, first, and then I'll give you something to eat," she says, showing me the flask. "You'll need it to get the taste out." I frown a little at her words. The... the taste? She smiles cheekily at my questioning look. "It's a restoration potion. I brewed it myself; it's strong, but... bitter, I'm afraid. I never could get the hang of sweetening potions without ruining them. Your mana is nearly restored, I think, but this should help you get the rest of your magic back. Open your mouth, love."

She holds the little bottle to my lips, tipping it gently. I try my best not to make a face as the potion hits my tongue, but I can't help it, she was right, it_ is_ bitter! But strong, very strong, and almost at once I can feel the small reserves of my power abruptly flare and grow, burning bright and warm within me, and suddenly I've never tasted anything so wonderful in my life. Oh, I've missed this feeling...

"Sorry," Hawke says ruefully, watching my reaction to the taste of the wonderful stuff that brought my magic completely back to life.

I shake my head, beaming at her happily. "Don't be, Hawke; it's wonderful!" She raises an incredulous eyebrow at me, and I smile at her. "Well, alright, it tastes worse than Xenon's nightshade potion, but it's so strong... I feel like my old self again. Almost, anyway."

"Good," Hawke replies with a nod of satisfaction. "I've been giving you a little every day; as much as you could manage, same as the broth. You should be back to normal in no time. And I'll give you another healing soon, too. Just to be sure."

"Really?" I ask her, trying to bite back a smile of anticipation. That sounds... very nice. It's such a wonderful feeling, whenever she heals me, filling me with her magic... but she shouldn't have to use it all up again, not while she's so clearly tired. "I do feel fine, now, though," I reassure her, trying to sound convincing. I don't want her to exhaust herself. "You could wait until you've rested a bit. But, of course, if you feel you should..."

"I do," she says, nodding gently. "It's better safe than sorry. I want to be sure your scars are completely gone."

I blink at her in surprised confusion. "My... scars?"

Hawke drops her eyes a little, looking pained. "From... where the wyvern bit you." I look down, remembering the piercing pain as the monster struck me, as it tore my flesh, remember the burning in my chest... but there are no marks that I can see. What does she... wait... no... there _are_ some scars... tiny little punctures, just the merest suggestion of teeth marks. "I've been working on them every day," Hawke says. "I don't want to leave a single trace of them. Wounds like that; from such a large venomous creature... it's best to make sure they're completely healed."

I raise a hand, tracing my fingers along the nearly invisible little marks. She must have worked very hard to get rid of them so completely. "They're almost gone, already." I tell her. "Thank you for taking such good care of me, ma vhenan."

She shakes her head a little as her mouth curves at my words. "That's never something you have to thank me for. It goes without saying that I will, my love." Her smile dims a little. "Besides, it wouldn't have been necessary if I'd kept you safe as I should have."

Oh, no, she isn't going to do this to herself again, is she? "It wasn't your fault, what happened, Hawke," I tell her firmly, willing her to believe it. "You know that, don't you?"

She smiles a little more, but doesn't look very convinced. I open my mouth to remind her of the promise she made not go blaming herself for every little thing all the time, but she speaks first.

"Ready for some food?" she asks, smiling gently at me as she picks up a little bowl and a small spoon from the bedside table. "I'll get you some broth, if you feel up to it."

"You're changing the subject," I accuse her.

She raises her eyebrow just a little, but in a cheeky, teasing sort of way. "We can keep talking about it if you like. But I'm sure you would rather have something to eat right now, wouldn't you?"

I can't help but narrow my eyes at her a little, though the corner of my mouth twitches up a little despite my best efforts. She stares back at me with wide, blue eyes; the picture of innocence. I know what she is doing, of course, but... After a moment I nod, letting it go. For the moment, at least. I might be better able to argue with her on a full stomach, anyway. And I am _very _hungry, now. "Yes, please, Hawke."

"Alright, then. Just a moment." Hawke moves over to a small cauldron heating in the fireplace, ladling out some of the contents into the bowl and coming back to sit on the edge of the bed beside me. She lifts a spoonful of the broth and blows on it gently, then raises it carefully up to my mouth, feeding me. I smile, surprised and delighted by the gesture. I know it's what you generally do for sick or injured people, of course, but still... With Hawke, it feels so... intimate.

I like it, very much.

"Just a little at a time, love," she says quietly as I sip at the spoon. I finish the first mouthful, licking my lips a little once it's gone. The broth is flavourful and filling and salty, but somehow it also quenches my thirst as well. It's wonderful.

"Did you make this, ma vhenan?"

She nods, bringing another spoonful to my eager lips. "Yes."

"Mmm." I make a pleased noise at the back of my throat as I swallow. "It's very tasty. You really are a very good cook."

Hawke smiles, giving a small laugh of surprise, and I watch in delighted fascination as a blush begins to burn in her cheeks. "It's just broth," she says modestly. "But thank you."

She feeds me the rest of it, putting the empty bowl back on the table when I'm done. I settle back deeper into the pillows, feeling warm and full and very comfortable.

"Feel better?" Hawke asks softly, a loving note in her voice, and I smile at her gratefully.

"Oh, yes, much. Thank you, ma vhenan."

"My pleasure." She smiles back. "Do you need anything else?"

I consider for a moment. "Not right now, although... I do have a question, if you don't mind."

"Of course not," she answers immediately. "What is it?"

I take a peek at my body beneath the warm bedclothes. "Why am I naked?" Hawke's eyes widen a little as a rosy blush stains her cheeks, and I stumble on quickly to alleviate her embarrassment. "Not that I mind, of course, just the opposite, really. I just... wondered."

She smiles a little as she looks at me. "So I could bathe you while you slept," she answers, and then blinks, suddenly looking distinctly uncomfortable. She rubs her neck. "That... sounded rather less creepy in my head... although I'm not sure why, now that I think about it." She bites her lip a little before letting her explanation out in a sudden, stammering rush. I must be rubbing off on her, I think. "While you were sleeping... Maker, this sounds wrong, but it... you... being... um, you know, having no clothes on, it just... it made things easier when I bathed you, and... when you had to... um, when it seemed you needed... relief..." I feel a blush stain my cheeks as I realise what she means. Hawke clears her throat a little, and I focus on her, grateful for the distraction. "The clothes you were wearing were ruined, but I couldn't find anything here that would be comfortable while you slept. Nothing that would fit you, anyway. I asked Isabela and Varric to go and get some of your things for you - they came by a few times after they heard what happened. They were both so worried," she interrupts herself, and I feel a rush of affection and gratitude for both of them as she continues. "They brought the bag of clothes you left there, but you didn't pack any of your sleeping things."

Of course I didn't, I thought she said I wasn't to? "No, I left them under my pillow. You said I wouldn't need night-time things anymore," I tell her, and she chuckles a little.

"And I meant it," she says, eyes twinkling. "It just means you had nothing comfortable enough to sleep in while you were recovering. I asked Isabela to go out and buy some things for you, but the items she came back with...ah..." Hawke suddenly blushes bright red, the colour even reaching the curves of her ears. "Well, they weren't exactly... appropriate. I probably should have been more careful - and specific - with the way I worded my request for her to get you 'something to wear to bed'. I strongly suspect that she may have 'borrowed' some garments from the Blooming Rose. Needless to say, I did not feel entirely comfortable dressing you in them, somehow."

I giggle; I can't help it, really. _Oh, Isabela!_ I look at Hawke curiously. "I don't suppose you still have them, do you?"

"I do, as a matter of fact," she answers slowly, and nods at the wardrobe by the bed. "She refused to take them back, so I put them away until I figure out what to do with them. Leave them in a bag outside the brothel in the dead of night, then knock on the door and run for it, I suppose."

"Can... can I see?" I ask, blushing, and she laughs.

"In a bit, if you like. Why?" She gives me a sly look. "Don't tell me you want to try them on?"

I blush harder. "Oh, I didn't mean... I only thought it might be fun to look at them, not that I..." I trail off as I realise she is only joking. "Oh, ma vhenan, shame on you, teasing your patient!"

"Sorry. Couldn't resist," she grins. "I can go out myself and find you some more comfortable things to sleep in, now that you're awake."

"Oh, no, that's alright, Hawke," I tell her quickly. I don't want her to go anywhere. "I don't mind not having any sleeping things, really. This is much nicer, anyway. I liked the feel of sleeping bare before."

Hawke raises her eyebrows. "You've... slept naked previously, have you?"

"Have you forgotten already?" I tease her gently, smiling.

A lovely blush steals over her features, and she ducks her head a little. "No, I... I meant before we... you know..." she says quickly, stumbling over her words a little, and I look at her in surprise. Oh, yes, I think I am definitely rubbing off on her. I smile, suddenly feeling very cheeky. And bold. It works both ways, it seems. And it's my turn to tease her a little, now.

"Well... aravels don't always offer the best protection from the cold in winter," I inform her, trying to sound as casual as I can manage. "I've found that your bedroll usually gets warmer much quicker... if you are wearing nothing at all."

She blinks at me, her eyes growing dark, and then she grins delightedly, laughing. "Oh, now that paints a simply wonderful picture in my head..."

I bite my cheek to hide my own smile of pleasure at her reaction to my words. This is very interesting, talking to her like this. Flirting, I suppose Isabela would call it. No wonder she does it all the time, it's so much fun, and sort of... empowering, I think the word is. And besides, it worked out quite well the last time, as I recall...

I look up at Hawke from beneath my eyelashes, smiling a little. "You don't have to see it in your head, Hawke." I pluck meaningfully at the blankets. "I'm right here..."

She bites her lips as she tries unsuccessfully to restrain a smile at my bold behaviour, but all she manages to do is redden them enticingly as I watch, fascinated with the way she responds to me. "So you are..." she says slowly, and then gives her head a little shake. "But I... I am far too honourable a healer to take advantage of my patients when they are in such a vulnerable position," she says, her voice warm with humour and affection.

"I wouldn't mind, Hawke, really," I tell her truthfully, trying to make my voice do that... low, husky, purring thing. "Not in the least."

Hawke loses the battle with her smile and lets it light up her face. "Stop tempting me, you," she laughs, and I smile myself at the sound of it. "You're testing my restraint enough as it is."

"Sorry, ma vhenan," I say happily, not feeling sorry at all. That was so much fun! I think I will have to do it more often. "I couldn't resist. I meant it though. I really wouldn't mind if..." I let my words trail away teasingly, and Hawke rewards my cheekiness with another wonderful laugh.

"Careful, now, love," she smiles. "Save your strength for getting well." I start to tell her I feel fine, but she forestalls me. "You may be feeling better now, my little temptress, but you'll soon tire. Besides, I need to conserve my own energy; I still have to give you a healing in a little bit. One more should do it, I think."

Another healing? Oh, yes, that sounds wonderful... "Why not now?" I ask eagerly.

Hawke rubs my stomach gently through the blanket, making me giggle. "Got to let the broth settle in there for a minute or two. Don't want to risk making you ill, do we?"

I place my hand over hers, smiling at her. "Oh, I see. You think I'm so full of broth already that if you fill me up with magic, too, I might just burst. And that would ruin all your nice clean sheets."

"Something like that," she laughs, and a jolt of pure joy shoots through me at the wonderful sweetness of the sound.

I tilt my head at her adoringly as her laughter dies away. "I love your voice," I tell her. I'm suddenly reminded of something I've wanted to ask her for quite a while, now. "Can you sing, Hawke?"

She blinks at me in surprise. "What?"

Did she not hear me? I thought my voice was sounding better, now. "Can you sing?" I repeat, a little louder, and she smiles fondly at me, though a little uncertainly.

"I heard you, I just... that was a little out of nowhere, don't you think? Why do you ask?"

I lift one shoulder in a little shrug. "I don't know, it's just... this, now, the way you're taking care of me, it just... it reminded me of how my mother would sing to me, when I was a little girl and I'd get sick. And you... you have such a lovely voice, so I just... I wondered."

Her smile deepens. "Well... leaving aside that you just told me I remind you of your mother..." I blush fiercely; I didn't mean it_ that_ way, I really didn't... but then, the way she's grinning at me, she knows that, I think. Teasing her patient again, for shame... "I don't know. I've never really tried." She strokes my cheek. "You really think I have a nice voice?"

"Yes," I tell her, a little shyly. "More than nice. It's _beautiful_, like... like music, made of liquid silver and moonlight."

Hawke's face lights with a radiant smile at my words. "Oh, Maker, you're beautiful," she whispers, bending to press a soft kiss to my brow. "I missed you so much."

"And I missed you, ma vhenan," I reply seriously as she draws back. "Or I would have, if I hadn't been sleeping."

She gives a small laugh, eyes shining, and then she falls silent, just watching me quietly, running her fingers gently through my tangled hair as I rest against the pillows. I lean happily into her touch, closing my eyes as a small, contented sigh escapes me.

"Are you tired?" she asks softly, her hand pausing in its movements.

I shake my head quickly without opening my eyes. I am, a little bit, but I don't want to go back to sleep, not yet. I've slept enough. Besides, I don't want to leave her, even to rest. And I don't want her to stop what she's doing. "No, Hawke. I'm just happy. I don't want to sleep. Don't stop, please."

Hawke resumes her soft stroking. After a moment her fingers leave my hair, only to begin gently tracing the vallaslin on my forehead.

"Have I ever told you how beautiful these are?" she says softly.

I open my eyes at the unexpected compliment. "You think so?"

She nods. "They're lovely. I haven't seen any other Dalish with markings quite like yours."

"Oh, no, you wouldn't have," I tell her, very much enjoying the sensation of fingertips running gently over my skin. "The design of each vallaslin can vary, as long as their underlying symbols are still clear. I designed mine myself as part of my Keeper training, so they look a bit different to anyone else's."

"You designed them? Well then, no wonder they're so lovely," Hawke says, her voice warm. "Since they came from such a beautiful soul."

_Oh!_ I feel a slow, bashful smile creep across my face as I blush in surprise and pleasure. "Thank you, ma vhenan. You're very sweet."

"Really?" she asks, sounding amused and a little embarrassed, in a cute sort of way. "I thought that sounded a bit silly after I said it."

I shake my head. "Well, I don't think so. But even if it had, I like it when you're silly, remember?"

"Oh, yes," she chuckles. "Silly me." She moves her hand down to follow the patterns on my cheek. I shiver a little at her touch. In a good way, of course. A very good way... "So then, why doesn't anyone else wear your vallaslin designs?" Hawke asks, still tracing them softly. "It's surprising, considering how exquisite they are. I know I'd pick them in a heartbeat, if I were Dalish."

"Well," I say slowly, most of my attention fixed on the feel of her gentle caress. "They could have asked for them if they wanted, of course, but the da'len who have become adults since I went through the ritual have all chosen to represent different gods."

"What do you mean?" Hawke asks curiously, her fingers still softly stroking my skin.

I take a breath and think for a moment about how to explain. Or... or I try to... It's getting very hard to pull my focus away from the gentle movement of her hand... "Well... um... once... once a da'len is of an age to become an adult, and if... if the Keeper decides they are... ready for... the responsibility, then they are allowed to undergo the ritual," I manage to tell her eventually, trying to slow my breathing a little. I pull myself together as best I can, wanting to explain this to her properly. "Wearing the vallaslin is a privilege. It reminds us that we are free, and of what that freedom cost our people. And that we will never again surrender our traditions and beliefs. 'Vallas' means writing, and 'lin' means blood, because the ink used in the ritual is made from our own blood. It's not blood magic or anything," I clarify hastily. "Just a part of the tradition. It is a mark of adulthood."

She nods. "Yes, I heard you telling Fenris as much, once. But what did you mean about representing the gods?"

I run my fingers across my other cheek. "Each design is based on the symbols of the Creators. Before receiving the vallaslin, each da'len must meditate on what each of our gods embodies, and find the one they feel they identify with the most. They must be sure, for they will wear the symbols of their chosen god for the rest of their lives. It is an important decision, the first truly adult choice any of us makes," I explain, noting again with delight the expression of utter enthrallment on her face. I've never known anyone to be so interested in Dalish lore, and she isn't even Dalish! "We must examine our own deepest nature, and make a fitting choice for the god we wish to represent on the earthly plane."

"Which Creator did you choose?" Hawke asks, her eyes bright with fascination, and then her eyebrows draw together a little worriedly. "It isn't rude to ask that, is it?"

I chuckle warmly. "No, of course not. It's no secret. I chose to represent Falon'Din. It felt like the best choice for me."

Hawke blinks, her hand stilling against my cheek. "Falon'Din... the Friend of the Dead?" she asks quietly, and suddenly I remember the last time I would have had cause to mention his name to her. In the Deep Roads, when we buried her brother...

I nod slowly. "Son of Mythal and Elgar'nan. He is the gentle guide of lost souls."

Hawke worries at her lower lip for a moment. "Perhaps I need to know more about him, but... I'm not certain why you think someone like you would best represent... death," she says, sounding hesitant. "The 'gentle' part I can see, but..." She trails off and gives me a questioning, slightly uncertain look, silently asking me to explain.

I think for a moment. "Well... technically, he isn't a god of death as we would understand it now. Or he wasn't always, anyway. The immortal Elvhen of old knew nothing of death after all, as the lore says. The hahren who entered uthenera would walk the shifting Fade paths beyond the Veil with Falon'Din, learning the secrets of dreams." I watch her as I speak, trying to see if I am making sense to her, at all. It's hard trying to explain about such a spiritual choice to someone who knows so relatively little of the ways of the People. But she will understand. Sometimes it seems as though she knows me better than I know myself, as though her wondrous eyes truly can see into my soul. "So when they woke... they would return to the People with... with the newfound knowledge that Falon'Din lead them to. Knowledge that would bring strength and power to the Elvhen."

"Ah," Hawke says, and the sound is full of comprehension, just as I expected. "Now I can see why that would appeal to you."

I smile at her. I knew she would see. "Yes. It seemed to me to be the perfect choice for a Keeper... as I was to be, then..." I shake my head a little, not wanting to dwell on all that right now, and cast about for a more pleasant line of thought. "Not that every Keeper has Falon'Din's markings, of course. Marethari's are those of his twin brother, Dirthamen, the Keeper of Secrets. But there are other designs besides that as well, of course. There are symbols for each of the gods."

"Like Mythal?" Hawke asks, and I nod.

"Yes. The All-Mother, Protector of the People, Goddess of Motherhood and Justice. She leads the pantheon with her bondmate, the All-Father Elgar'nan, God of Vengeance."

Hawke tilts her head questioningly. "What do their symbols look like?"

She is so full of questions! If only the da'len back in the clan had been half so eager to learn! "Well, I don't know if you will have met anyone with Elgar'nan's symbols, but Mythal's look like... um... like Fenarel's vallaslin. You've met Fenarel, haven't you?"

Hawke nods. "I think so, briefly. He's a clan hunter, isn't he? Pale blonde hair, green eyes? Quite serious; but with a distinct air of someone who tries too hard. Bit of a 'stick up his backside' sort of fellow."

"Yes, that sounds like him," I giggle. "A lot of the hunters end up choosing to represent Mythal, if they don't pick Andruil. Mahariel chose Mythal's symbols too." I look at Hawke closely for a moment as a thought suddenly strikes me. I know she isn't Dalish, or even elven, but... she always cares so much about the elves, and not just me, either. She is something of a defender of my people, in thought and word and deed. If anyone deserves to be honoured as a friend of the People, it is her. And she seems to find the idea very... intriguing, after all. At least, I think she does. "I think they would suit you, actually, ma vhenan."

She lifts her brows in surprise. "What?"

"The vallaslin," I explain. "I could give you the markings, if you wished it. I have been trained for it, after all. I know you don't know much about the Creators, but I could choose your symbols for you. Perhaps you could wear the markings of Mythal. You are my protector - well, you protect lots of people in fact, but me especially, of course - and you are such a wonderful protector, ma vhenan." She looks away at that, as though she didn't like hearing it. Probably because she still feels that she failed to keep me safe, even though it's silly of her to think that way. But if she doesn't feel right about it... "Or perhaps you could have the vallaslin of Andruil. She's the goddess of the hunt and sister of the moon, creator of the Vir Tanadhal," I offer gently instead. "And hawks are beloved animals of Andruil, after all." She looks at me again, gracing me with a small smile. I gaze back at her, imagining how the intricate lines would accentuate her pale skin and high cheekbones, how it would draw attention to her lovely eyes... not that the vallaslin is meant for that, of course, but... still...

I nod decisively. "Yes, that would suit you perfectly. What do you think?"

Hawke's smile widens as she raises an eyebrow at me. "You really want to give a Dalish coming-of-age ritual to a human?" She sounds a little doubtful, but she looks quite intrigued by the idea, I think. "Would you even be allowed to?"

"Well... there is a precedent for it," I tell her. "Sort of, anyway. One of Marethari's oldest scrolls mentions a human who helped defend the Sabrae clan when the Templars tried to wipe them out, a few centuries back. I remember it very well, because it was so... unusual. It's only a brief account, and not very clear, but it does mention something about the Keeper declaring the 'brave shemlen to be a "Defender of the People", granting him the Creators' protection, and making him one of us in spirit by marking his body with our blood.' That sounds like they gave him the blood writing as a sort of... badge of honour. And besides..." I smile a little bashfully, feeling suddenly bold... and a bit cheeky. Maybe more than a bit. "I've done lots of things I'm not really allowed to, lately." I reach out and run my fingers along her arm pointedly. "Haven't I, ma vhenan?"

Hawke gives a light laugh of surprise, like the singing of a crystal bell. At least, if there is such a thing, that's what it would sound like, I think. "I can't deny that," she smiles, and tilts her head at me, eyes sparkling. She lifts her hand to trail along the markings on my cheek again. "Though I might like to know what Andruil's symbols look like before I commit to having them permanently tattooed on my face," she jokes. Her fingers ghost along my jaw line and begin softly tracing the vallaslin just beneath my lips. "Are they as lovely as yours?"

"Oh, yes, I think so," I tell her distractedly, my breath quickening again at this intimate touch. "It's... it's mostly the hunters who end up choosing Andruil's markings... and they've been off... um... hunting, whenever we've been to the camp, so... so you won't have seen them, I don't think. I'll... I'll draw some for you later if you like. They look strong, and bold, and brave. They're really quite... quite beautiful."

"If you design some for me, then I have no doubt of that," Hawke says sweetly as she takes my chin lightly in her fingertips, leaning down to kiss me gently on the lips. I close my eyes and return it happily, reaching up and stroking the gentle curve of her ear, shivering as she returns the favour, as I feel her smile against me.

She draws back after a moment and I look at her seriously as she sits up again. "I did mean it, you know. I would give you vallaslin, if you wanted it. I think it would be very..." I trail off, lost in imaginings, picturing her with the intricate, graceful markings of the proud, beautiful goddess, so like Hawke...

"Very...?" she prompts gently after a moment, and I blink, coming back to myself.

"Very... um... attractive..." I finish, a little bashfully, but it's the truth. She would look lovely with vallaslin; though, of course, that is hardly the only reason I offer them to her. It sounds foolish in my head; too foolish to confide to Hawke, even, but... giving her the blood writing would be... my own way of protecting her. Asking the Creators to grant her their favour, to guard her and keep her safe. It would look very nice, though...

"Oh, is that so?" Her mouth curves in a sweet half smile. "Well in that case... I might just take you up on it," she chuckles warmly. "One day." Her head tilts slightly as she follows the lines of my vallaslin with her eyes. "It must hurt, though. My brother got a tattoo of a mabari at Ostagar, and he said it felt like getting branded with a hot iron, only very slowly. And that was just on his arm. I imagine it would feel far worse on such a more sensitive area."

I nod slowly. "It is... painful, yes. That's why it is so important that the da'len is truly ready. The clan Keepers can stop the ritual if they decide they are not, and no-one thinks poorly of them for it, or teases them about it. Or they're not supposed to, anyway. The thinking is that all children are different, and will cease to be children at different times. And as the stories go, our ancestors once took centuries to come of age. If the ritual must be stopped, it is not the fault of the child, but rather of those who wrongly believed the da'len to be ready to begin with." I pause for a moment, remembering. "Though for me, as the Keeper's First... while in theory the Keeper _could_ have stopped the ritual for me, in reality it would have looked very, very bad if I had not been able to bear the pain in silence and become a full adult on the first try."

"That... must have been what you meant..." Hawke says to herself softly. She looks at me soberly. "After the wyvern attack, when you were... hurt... you said something about having to 'make no sound when receiving the vallaslin.'"

I frown. "Did I?"

She nods once; a pained look in her eyes. I suppose it probably isn't a pleasant memory for her. "You were... in agony," she says, looking down briefly. "You seemed to think you were undergoing the ritual again. Is that... what you were talking about? You have to stay quiet, no matter how much it hurts?"

"Yes. It is part of the tradition," I explain. I doubt telling her this will make her any more eager to let me perform the ritual on her, but I'm not about to lie. And she wouldn't have to stay quiet, anyway. Not that she wouldn't be able to of course, but she has already proven her courage, countless times. "Cries of pain are seen as signs of weakness, so you can't make a single sound when the Keeper is applying the markings. Tears are allowed - they are difficult to stop - but they must be silent. You must show that you are strong, and determined, and brave. It hurt very badly, I remember. And it took _such_ a long time. I was scared I wouldn't be able to bear it, but I did."

"Well, of course you did, Merrill," Hawke says quietly. "You're the bravest person I know."

I blink at her in astonishment. "Me?" That can't be true. She's just being kind. "Don't be silly, ma vhenan."

She holds my eyes intently with her own. "I'm not, for once. You give yourself too little credit. Just think about what you are doing with the eluvian; leaving behind everything you've ever known to continue your work, all for the good of your people. Holding to your beliefs while everybody keeps telling you that you're wrong, even...well... everyone..." She trails off with a small sigh, and then smiles crookedly at me. "It takes a great deal of courage to do that._ And_ you stuck with me throughout that whole blasted Deep Roads disaster without so much as a word of complaint."

I chuckle quietly. "I think my eagerness to follow you into the Deep Roads wasn't so much bravery as it was my being totally and utterly in love with you, Hawke."

A delighted smile plays over her lips at my words, and for a while it seems she can't speak. "Yes, well," she says after a moment, still smiling. "That's hardly all. You never hesitate in battle. Like when you were all alone against that bloody wyvern... keeping your head and stabbing it like that when it jumped at you... that took a great deal of courage. We saw the monster's body; you managed to stab the thing right in the heart as it was charging you, and saved us all. I just wanted to tell you how wonderfully brave you are. Though I knew it long before that, of course."

"It wasn't that impressive, really," I protest, though I feel pleasantly warm inside at hearing her say that. "It was more of an accident than anything else. Besides, I only did what I had to. If the wyvern had killed me, then it would have killed you next, and Anders and Fenris, and I couldn't let it."

"See?" Hawke smiles. "Brave. Instinctively courageous and selfless, not to mention amazing. Especially since Fenris's sword is nearly taller than you are. I'm not sure I could even have held onto it if it was me."

I shake my head at that. "Yes you could, Hawke, of course you could. You were so brave yourself, jumping on the wyvern's back like that when it was coming for me-"

"And then I got myself tossed against a wall like a ragdoll, leaving you to face it alone," she breaks in, her expression hardening as she looks away, shaking her head and looking very angry with herself, all of a sudden. "And after I promised to keep you safe. Some protector I am."

But she _is_ a good protector. She can't stop anything from ever happening to me at all, though. "We only went to the Emporium in the first place because of my mirror. And anything can happen, ma vhenan; things beyond even your power to prevent. Stop beating yourself up about it," I insist. "You made another promise to me, remember? Not to blame yourself for things that are not your fault?" She still will not look at me. I take her hand, speaking with my best determined voice. "And this was not your fault, ma vhenan. I mean it," I tell her firmly. "Look at me, please."

She lifts her head slowly, her face suddenly crumpling as she gazes at me. "I just... when I was holding you, seeing you so badly hurt, and in so much pain... and there was nothing I could do... I've never been so terrified." Her voice trembles. "If... if you had died, I..."

_Oh, Hawke..._

"Shh, ma vhenan," I hush her, holding her hand tighter. "I'm alright now, I promise."

She takes a deep, controlling breath and manages a small smile. "I know," she says. "I just... I hate that you got hurt, and I couldn't prevent it, or do anything to help you..." She squeezes my hand, stroking the back of it gently with her thumb. "Though really, I suppose this is all because the bloody Antiquarian decided that simply asking for our blood was too direct-"

"Our blood?" I repeat, startled. What about our blood? Hawke blinks at me in apparent surprise as I tilt my head at her curiously. Maybe she didn't mean to say that out loud? Creators, it must have had something to do with those strange slashes on our hands... "What do you mean, Hawke? What did Xenon do?"

She sighs, glancing away. "I'll... explain later, if that's alright? It doesn't really matter right now, anyway. Not now that we're out of that wretched place, and you're out of danger and awake."

I hesitate, and then nod a little, accepting. "Alright, then." If she says she'll tell me later, then she will. I suppose it mustn't be that important. Though, that does remind me... "You did get the book I found, though, didn't you?" I ask her anxiously. "Before leaving the Emporium?"

"Of course, Merrill, don't worry," Hawke assures me, and gives a little nod over her shoulder at the little table in the corner. "It's over there on the desk. I'll bring it to you, if you like."

I turn my head towards her writing desk, trying to see - oh, yes, there it is, still carefully wrapped up. Suddenly I'm itching to hold it, to look at it, but it's... likely not the best idea, right now, just in case. The book is very old and very delicate, after all; I wouldn't want to drop it and hurt it. "Maybe later would be better, Hawke. But thank you."

"Alright," she says, and then her eyes widen as though suddenly remembering something. A look of excitement flashes across her face before she hurriedly composes it. I suppress a small frown; that was a little odd, wasn't it? "Actually, I do have something else for you, if you're interested," she says; her indifferent tone of voice completely at odds with her expression, just now.

I look at her in confusion. "From the Emporium? You bought something else as well?"

The corner of her mouth lifts in a secretive smile. "Yes and no."

Well, that explained everything, didn't it? What can she mean? What else did we get? I can't think what it could be... unless I forgot about it? "But we didn't get anything else down there, did we? At least, I only remember finding the one book..."

"No, it's nothing like that," Hawke laughs. "I got you... let's call it a gift."

Her words take a moment to sink in. "A... gift? Why?"

Hawke blinks once, and then tilts her head at me. "Because... well... why not?

She looks a bit taken aback, now. I suppose I probably didn't react the way people ought to when someone gives them a... a present. Oh, dear. I look up at her worriedly. "I've said something stupid, haven't I? I'm sorry. It's just..." How do I explain this? I know that gift-giving is practised often amongst humans, but... amongst the Dalish, it's... it's very different... I never thought about how to explain it. I didn't consider ever needing to... Oh, and now I've been silent for far too long, haven't I? Best just get it over with, then. I look down, twisting my hands together. "No one... no one has ever given me a present before."

"What?" Hawke's voice is full of surprise. I glance back up and find her staring at me in shock. "Really? No one's ever given you anything?"

"Useful things. Tools, or clothes, or... even shoes, sometimes..." I look at Hawke, feeling my lips curve fondly at the memory of being presented with a small pair of leather sandals in the Deep Roads. I still have them, hidden carefully away in my secret place. "Because I needed them, though. Not just... because."

Hawke stares at me in silence for a moment, and then shakes her head disbelievingly. "I can't believe the Dalish don't give each other gifts."

"W-well... we do, sometimes..." I explain quickly. "But... only in certain circumstances. Certain... um... social rituals."

"Like what?" Hawke asks, giving me a small but very mischievous smile. "Courting?"

"No," I smile back. "That... wouldn't be seen as appropriate, not before... um... that is..." I feel myself about to start rambling and bite my tongue for a moment before going on more slowly. This shouldn't be so... so awkward, surely, not with Hawke. "Gifts are usually only exchanged after... after a couple is... bonded," I manage at last, feel the blood rush to my cheeks. Hawke just waits, watching me, incomprehension clear on her face. I take a deep breath. "You know... married."

"Oh!" Hawke raises her eyebrows a little, then smiles. "Right. Well... humans give gifts to people they love all the time, married or otherwise, so... you're just going to have to get used to it, I'm afraid. And if you've never received a present before, then, well... I think I'd better start making that up to you right now." Her smile widens into another secretive grin. "Though this particular gift will certainly be hard to beat, I think. Now, close your eyes, love."

Close my eyes? What for? I tilt my head at her curiously. "Why? Is this... is this part of getting a present?"

"Sometimes," Hawke answers. "Usually if it's not wrapped."

Wrapped? "Presents are supposed to be wrapped, then?" She nods, looking increasingly amused by my persistent questioning. I'm not done yet, though. Besides, how else will I learn? "Why?"

"Because it's fun. And it's more of a surprise that way," Hawke replies.

Why didn't she wrap this present, then, whatever it is? Not that I'm not grateful, of course, but... it would be nice to do it properly. "Unwrapping presents sounds like fun, though!" I tell her excitedly. "Could you wrap it in something now? I don't mind waiting a little."

"Oh, I doubt he would like-" Hawke begins, and then stops quickly, looking faintly annoyed with herself. "That is... I mean... I don't think it's a good idea to try and wrap this... particular present," she finishes instead.

She doesn't think 'he' would like something? Who is he? And what wouldn't he like? I peer at her in bewilderment. This is all getting very confusing. "What do you mean, Hawke?"

But she bites her lips as though to stop herself speaking and shakes her head a little, smiling at me. "Just... just close your eyes before I say too much," she tells me firmly, and raises a finger in playful warning. "And no peeking!"

"Yes, ma vhenan." I shut my eyes tight, and cover them over with my fingers for emphasis. I feel her leave the bed, hear her cross the room a few steps, and even though she told me not to look, I can't resist peeking through my fingers, just a little... There she is, crouching on the hearth rug next to her dozing mabari, bending over that small woven basket by the fire again, just like when I woke. So that's where my present is, then? Whatever could be in there, I wonder? Hawke reaches into the basket, and I strain my eyes trying to see what is inside, burning with curiosity... then cover them up again hurriedly she starts to straighten. I don't want her to see me looking, not after she told me not to! I try my hardest to look innocent, keeping my hands firmly over my eyes as she sits beside me on the bed again.

"Now hold out your arms."

I do as she tells me without questioning her this time, reaching out both hands into the darkness, though this seems even stranger than asking me to shut my... oh!

I manage to keep my eyes closed, but only just, gasping at the unexpected warmth as Hawke puts... something... into my arms, something small, and furry, and... breathing?

Something... alive?

"Alright," Hawke says, a trace of delighted anticipation and laughter in her voice. "Now you can look."

I open my eyes, and look down at... at...

Oh...

But...

How...

But it _can't_ be...

I... I thought I was awake... how can I still be dreaming? But... it feels so _real_...

I stare downwards, my eyes wider than I thought they could go as I try to... to think... this... how could it be, _how_... it can't be... but... but it is...

IT _IS_!

"Hawke," I whisper. That's all I can make my voice do, right now... "This... this... it's... a griffon. A... a-a baby griffon! It is, isn't it?"

Hawke nods. "I saw it and thought of you," she says, her voice carefully casual and a small but very cheeky smile on her face. "Do you like it?"

Do... do I _like_...? "I... I... Elgar'nan, Mythal, Andruil!" I take a huge, deep breath and let it out in a scream of utter, _utter _delight;

"Oh, _Hawke!_"

The sound disturbs the tiny baby griffon in my arms, and he opens his sweet little eyes with a startled chirp, his little white furry sides rising and falling rapidly as he wakes from his dream. He peers up at me, blinking, and then he gives a happy little cry of surprise and snuggles into me, nuzzling his little feathery, furry, pointy-eared head against my chest.

Oh, oh,_ oh!_

_Mythal'enaste!_

"I think he likes you," Hawke says softly.

I drag in breath after amazed, astounded, astonished breath, unable to look away from him. "Oh, Creators! Oh! Oh, hello, little sweetheart! Oh, you beautiful little thing!" He purrs contentedly, and I manage to tear my gaze away to look up at Hawke, who is watching me with a wide, happy smile. "I can't believe... You... you got me... you got me a... a _griffon_... How... how did... you... I can't... _where_...?"

_Oh, yes, very good, Merrill. You can start making sense anytime, now._

The little griffon makes a small but demanding sort of chirp and paws gently at my cheek, and I return my attention to him, distracted from interrogating Hawke for the moment. He twists his head curiously as he peers up into my face, his tiny forepaws kneading me gently, and I can do nothing but gaze at him, completely dumbstruck. A real... baby... _griffon... _I stare in wonder, drinking in the sight of this impossible little marvel, this little griffon... a griffon! He is pure white, just like the stories say, with a fresh, slightly scruffy, recently bathed sort of look. I examine every inch of him thoroughly, gently stroking his furry little toes, looking at the large, round, bright blue eyes in his little eagle head, topped with large furry ears just like a cat's... they look too big for him, but then, I suppose he will grow into them, won't he? I ignore his loud squall of protest against the indignity as I turn him about, lifting his little tail to see... yes, he's definitely male, just like I thought. His body is rather like that of a mountain lion cub, with four little paws and a tufted tail, the fur changing to feathers across his little shoulders where a pair of white wings sprout from his back. His coat looks healthy, although he is quite thin - as though until recently he hasn't had enough to eat for quite some time, poor little fellow. He'll be alright now, with us, now that Hawke saved him from... wherever she got him... where could she have gotten him, this... this little _miracle_...

_Oh, Creators... I suppose I must have done some things right, for you to bless me twice so close together. Giving me Hawke, and a baby griffon both... oh..._

_Thank you... thank you!_

I stroke the little creature's furry ears, and he gives a happy little cheep, closing his eyes blissfully as he nestles into me. I lift my head to look at Hawke again, and her eyes sparkle as she watches me. I can only imagine how joyful I must look... oh, oh, _Hawke_... "Where... where in the name of the Creators did you find him?" I ask her, my voice hushed with wonder and excitement and a little disbelief, still. But he's real, he is, a baby griffon! My mind whirls, and I ask the first thing that comes into my head, the only thing that could make any sort of sense. "Was he down in the ruins, too? In the cells, like the wyvern?"

"He was," Hawke says, nodding. "Though technically it was you who found him. He was the 'bird' that beast was hunting."

"Oh." I look down at the little fellow sympathetically."Of course you were, you poor little thing." The little griffon chick covers his eyes with the edge of his little white wing, peeking at me through the feathers, as though trying to remind me of the moment I found him. I giggle, rubbing his back. He is _adorable!_ "Oh, don't worry, I remember you. Who could forget such a fine fellow?" He resettles his wings along his back and straightens, puffing out his little chest proudly. I smile fondly at him. "You look even more handsome now, though, if I may say so. All clean, and healed. I hope that awful wyvern didn't hurt you too badly." He gives a mewling little whine, flattening his little ears against his head sadly, and I nod seriously. "Yes, I know. It must have been absolutely terrifying, being hunted by such a monster. I know how frightened I was when it turned on us. But you're alright, now! And you were very brave, and very clever to get away from it the way you did." He purrs, and I smile at him. "You're very welcome."

I look at Hawke again, who has been following our little exchange with obvious delight, and a little amusement, I think. "Can he fly?" I ask her excitedly.

She bites her lip thoughtfully, looking at the griffon in my arms. "I'm not certain. His wing was injured when we found him. Anders healed it, but even so, I haven't seen any evidence that he can fly, yet. He may be too young."

I feel a frown cross my face as I glance down at him. "Then... how will he learn without his parents to teach him? Should we... should we try to find them, do you think?" I ask reluctantly. The little fellow gives a keening, plaintive cry, lowering his ears sadly. "Not that I don't want to keep you, of course!" I reassure him quickly. "But wouldn't you like to find your family?" He rests his head against my chest, looking up at me with big eyes.

"Looks like he'd rather be with you," Hawke says softly. "Can't say I blame him. There's no way of knowing where he came from anyway; it would be next to impossible to find them."

I nod slowly. "I suppose it would. Especially if griffons move around like the Dalish clans so that people can't track them."

"They must do, since no one has seen one for centuries," Hawke agrees.

I feel a wide grin spreading across my face. "I guess this means we're keeping him!"

Hawke smiles at the unrestrained joy in my voice. "You'd better give him a name, then," she says. "Do you still want to call him Feathers?"

I don't even have to think about it; I always wanted a baby griffon called Feathers. "Yes," I answer promptly.

Hawke grins. "And you're sure you don't want to give him a more... heroic name?"

"I like Feathers," I protest. "It's the name I had in mind ever since I first decided I wanted a griffon of my own, back when I was a little girl and my mother would tell me stories about the Grey Wardens and their heroic griffon mounts, always swooping in and saving the day." The little griffon lifts his head, perking his ears up interestedly and cocking his head to the side in an inquisitive sort of way. I nod at him. "Yes, brave, heroic griffons, just like you. What do you think, little one? My little Feathers?" Feathers gives a happy little cheep, and I smile. "See? He likes it."

"Feathers it is, then," Hawke says, grinning. "As long as everyone's happy. I'm sure we'll be able to work out how to teach him to fly and hunt, and... whatever else griffons do. I'll bet Mother will have some ideas; she was quite good at figuring out his needs. Skills of motherhood, I suppose. She mostly looked after him while I took care of you. We weren't too sure what he's supposed to eat, at first, but Mother found something he liked eventually, although my poor old dog isn't too happy about it," she says. "Apparently mabari crunch is also griffon chick crunch." The poor old dog in question huffs grumpily from his place by the fire. Hawke turns her grin on him, and then looks back at me, eyes twinkling with delight as I giggle at them both happily. Talking of her mother, though... it is odd that Hawke hasn't gone to tell her I'm awake, now.

"Where is Leandra?" I ask curiously.

"The carriage came to take her a day ago," Hawke replies. Oh, yes; Leandra's trip to Ostwick, to see her friend with the funny name. "Good timing, since she wouldn't have left until she knew you would be alright."

I blink at her, touched. "Really?"

She nods "She was very worried about you. Almost as much as I was."

"Oh, she is very kind!" I exclaim, smiling. "But I would have felt awful if she'd had to delay her trip because of me."

"She wouldn't have cared about that," Hawke says. "She would have stayed for as long as it took you to wake, commitments be damned. It worked out quite well in the end, though, all things considered." She smiles. "Bodahn and Sandal went with her too, so we have the house to ourselves."

No wonder it seems so much quieter, then, if Hawke and I are alone, now. Apart from the dog and the griffon, of course. And she's had to manage them both alone, and me as well... she must be so tired. My poor Hawke. "You've been looking after both me and a baby griffon all by yourself since they left, then?"

"And doing fairly well, if I do say so myself," she answers, smiling at me, and then reaching out to Feathers, scratching his throat. "Haven't I, little fellow?" He purrs happily, and she smiles at him. At the griffon she got me... Oh, she is so wonderful. My very own griffon...

My vision swims suddenly, and I sway a little, blinking. Oh... I guess I must be more tired than I thought... Hawke grasps my shoulders gently, steadying me as she gazes into my face with a look of concern. She slips her arm around my shoulders and lays me back down into the pillows. "I think it might be time for that healing, now," she says. I feel her summon her mana as she starts to work a creation spell...

Feathers chirps at her, and she glances at him, then pulls back, smiling in amusement. She gives him a sort of 'after you' gesture, and I frown a little, glancing between them. What is going on? Feathers picks his way carefully up the blankets and sits down on my chest. He settles himself comfortably, and then opens his little beak and starts to... sing? I stare in amazement as his feathers begin to shine with pure light... then gasp as I feel the gentle touch of magic... but... it isn't Hawke's magic... it can't be coming from him, surely...

Can it?

"Oh! What... what is he doing? It feels like... like..._"_ I gaze from Feathers to Hawke and back again, feeling my eyes widen. "It's like he's... _healing_ me."

"He is, a little," Hawke says, watching him. I can hardly believe it... I... I never knew griffons could do this! "He's been helping me take care of you."

Feathers stops his little purring, cheeping song and gives a proud, bell-like _peep_, bobbing his head in agreement. I smile at him. He is very cute, and so clever! And he... he has _magic_... "Well... I... Thank you, Feathers." He chirps happily in reply, fluttering his little wings in excitement, and I look at Hawke. "I've never heard of griffons having magic, before. Have you?"

Hawke shakes her head. "But then, it's been two hundred years since anyone has seen one. Who knows how much about them has been forgotten? Or perhaps the ones the Wardens bred largely lost their talents in captivity."

Just like when the magisters enslaved the Elvhen. "He's like... a mage griffon, then?"

Hawke grins. "Yes, I suppose he is. A little apostate griffon chick." She gazes at Feathers fondly. "How very appropriate."

Feathers blinks his bright little eyes and then snuggles up to me with a yawn.

I bite back a smile, stroking his little ears. "I... think he's tired himself out."

"Looks like I'll have to take it from here, then," Hawke smiles. She picks Feathers up, hushing him as he gives a sleepy little cry of protest. "Come on, little fellow, off to bed. Don't worry, I'll look after her until you wake up." I hear him start to snore gently almost the moment after Hawke puts him back in his little basket by the fire, and I barely manage to suppress a sudden fit of silly, euphoric giggling. A griffon... I have a baby griffon!

A magical, singing, snoring baby griffon...

"Watch over him for me, boy?" Hawke asks her dog, still lying on the hearth hug. He gives a quiet bark of reassurance, lowering his head onto his paws and fixing his gaze steadily on the basket concealing the sleeping baby griffon. My griffon.

My Feathers.

I stare wonderingly at Hawke as she moves back to the bed to sit next to me. She got me a baby griffon... "I_... _I can hardly believe I'm not still dreaming..."

Hawke smiles, leaning down to place a soft, chaste kiss on my lips. "It's no dream, my love," she says gently. "I promise." She presses a hand to my forehead, and I gaze up at her hopefully; she is still going to give me a healing, isn't she? Oh, I hope so... it's such a wonderful feeling...

"Did Feathers leave anything for me to do?" Hawke asks as she reads my mind, again. "Do you still want me to-"

I nod eagerly. "Oh, yes, Hawke, please."

"As you wish," she says, smiling at my enthusiasm. She pauses for a moment, tilting her head curiously at me. "How do you say that in elven?"

"Ma nuvenin," I tell her. She really does want to learn elven, then. Somehow I find that very... thrilling.

Hawke smiles. "Ma nuvenin, Merrill," she repeats carefully, and I smile back. She is so cute.

She gently pulls the blanket down a little, exposing my chest, and begins running her fingers softly over my skin as she examines the nearly-gone scars carefully. I shiver pleasurably at her attentions, my breath growing rapid as magic sparks from her fingertips, raising chill bumps on the surface of my skin where it brushes me gently. Hawke pauses, glancing at me. "This doesn't hurt you, does it?"

"No. Oh, no, Hawke. It certainly doesn't." I shake my head slowly. "Quite the opposite, actually..."

"Oh." She lifts her eyebrows a little in surprise, smiling as she takes my meaning. "Well, then. I suppose I needn't hold back. Try not to let yourself get too excited, though," she laughs with gentle humour, and I bite back a bashful grin, feeling myself blush. "You'll probably want to rest a bit more, when I'm done."

I start to tell her I'm not that tired, not really, but she reaches for her mana again and I fall silent as she pours her magic inside me, losing myself in the sensation... this wonderful sensation as her spirit flows through me, surging, tingling... oh... it feels so _nice_...

I have to repress a disappointed whimper when she draws her mana back into herself at last. That didn't take long... not as long as I hoped, anyway... It certainly worked, though, leaving me feeling better, and much stronger. Though also, strangely... empty, and bereft, like I still need something... more...

"Tired now?" she asks softly.

Tired... perhaps. Rest might be what I need, I suppose. Healing does place a little stress on the both the healer and the patient, because it forces the body to change quicker than it wants to, using the mana of the healer and the patient's own reserves of strength. At least that's what I've gathered from what Hawke and Anders have told me, though I've never been any good at understanding creation magic, myself. "Maybe a bit, now," I admit, looking up at her. "I don't really want to go to sleep, though... and I don't want to leave you alone again."

"I'll be right here, watching over you, Merrill." She smiles wryly. "And I'll have my brave old mabari war hound watching over me, not to mention a heroic and fearsomely fluffy baby griffon." I giggle, and she runs the backs of her fingers over my cheek, so gently, so lovingly... "It's alright, love. Rest."

I suppose... it wouldn't hurt to sleep a bit. I won't have any more of those strange memory dreams now, with my mana restored after all... but I don't know that I really want to go into the Fade alone. I could ask Hawke to give me a sleep spell again, but then... she just gave me a big healing... and she can't have had much sleep herself, these past few days, she must be exhausted. I don't want her over-reaching herself working another spell on me, and I probably should sleep, but... I want Hawke to be with me.

"Alright, ma vhenan. I will. But only if you get some rest too," I tell her. She opens her mouth to protest, and I speak over her quickly. "When did you last sleep, Hawke? And for how long? No more than a few hours, I bet."

"I..." Her mouth closes, and she looks a bit abashed. "Well..."

I look at her seriously. "Sleep with me, Hawke." She grins, quirking an eyebrow at me, and I giggle as I blush, realising what I said. "Oh, you know what I mean." I pat the covers next to me. "Lie down, Hawke. Get some rest. For me?"

"Alright, then," she says softly, smiling. "Ma nuvenin."

She moves around to the empty side of the bed and reaches out to pull back the blankets. I frown a little. She's coming to bed fully clothed?

Oh, no, now that won't do at all...

I reach out and touch her arm gently, stroking the silky fabric of her house robe. "Aren't you going to take this off?" I ask her, trying to mimic the way she sounded when she asked the same thing of me, that night we spent together, sleeping, in my house. She hesitates, looking at me uncertainly, and I smile teasingly, enjoying the surprise in her eyes at my behaviour. I can't help it, I just seem to find myself growing bolder around her. I'm not afraid to ask for what I want, now. I've no need to be. "It just doesn't look too comfortable to sleep in," I say, trying to copy her lovely Ferelden accent, tempered with the gentle inflections of her mother's high-born speech. Such a beautiful voice she has, my Hawke. "That's all."

She grins slowly at me. "Cheeky."

I bite my lip, though I know it wasn't a rebuke. "I just... I want to... to be as close to you as I can," I explain quietly. "Besides... if I'm naked, then you should be too. It's only fair."

"Fair enough," Hawke laughs. She unties the cloth belt of her robe, slipping it off quickly and letting it fall to the floor, then hurriedly begins to unwind her breastband.

"No need to rush so, ma vhenan," I tell her softly. Boldly. "Take your time... please."

Hawke looks at me for a moment, and then another slow smile spreads across her face. She takes off her breastband with deliberate slowness and then leisurely removes her smalls as I watch appreciatively, the firelight playing over her bare skin in tantalising wisps of light and shadow... Oh... She's so _beautiful_... I feel a foolish smile curve my lips as Hawke slips beneath the covers, wrapping her arms about me carefully and pressing her naked body gently against my side. Her hand strokes gently through my hair, and I sigh happily at the feel of her skin against mine... oh, it's wonderful...

"Better?" Hawke whispers as I curl my arms about her.

"Oh, yes..." I breathe, smiling into her eyes. "Thank you, ma vhenan."

She chuckles warmly, placing a feather-light kiss on my shoulder. "My pleasure." She lies still for a moment, gazing at me. "Merrill?" she asks suddenly. "What's the word for 'you' in elven?"

"Emma," I answer immediately without thought, only belatedly wondering what inspired her to ask. It was a little... out of nowhere, really, wasn't it?

"Emma?" Hawke repeats, frowning a little. "But... you said 'ma nuvenin' means 'as you wish.' And what about in 'ma vhenan'? You said that meant 'my heart'. Does 'ma' mean 'you' or 'my'? Or both?"

She really must be interested in learning the elven language, then. I swear; I have never known anyone to be such an eager student. "It means 'you', mostly, but sometimes '_ma_' is short for '_emma_', which is 'my'," I tell her patiently.

"Ah. Alright, then." She nods thoughtfully. "And how do you say 'one'?" I have to suppress a smile of amusement. I don't mind at all, of course. I just thought she wanted me to rest. Does she really want a lesson now? She seems to feel something of my puzzlement, because she chuckles a little, stroking my cheek. "I'm sorry, I do plan to let you sleep, but... I just want to know two more words. What's 'one' in elven?"

I smile at her persistence. "One is '_sa_'," I say, indulging her. She isn't going to rest until she knows.

"_Sa_," she repeats carefully, and then whispers to herself, "_Emma... sa... _my one_..._"

"And the other word?" I ask. She said she wanted to know two, after all.

Hawke rests her cheek on the top of my head. "Love."

_Oh._ "_Lath_," I tell her softly.

"That's all I wanted to know," she whispers. "Ma serannas... emma sa'lath."

_My one love._

Oh... _Hawke_...

I feel my throat tighten. She... she came up with an elven endearment on her own... just for me... _oh._.. "Ma vhenan... You are so... so... _wonderful_."

"Am I, now? Then aren't we a pair," Hawke chuckles. She gives a happy sigh, tilting her head a little to look down at me. "I almost can't believe how much I love you."

"It's amazing how you can do that. Read my mind that way," I tell her softly, smiling up at her with all my love as I press my hand over her heart... which begins to race wildly at my touch. "I was thinking just the same thing about you."

She smiles at me and suddenly... suddenly, I don't feel the least bit tired anymore. She looks so beautiful, lying there with her lovely eyes sparkling in happiness and love, her hair gleaming in the soft light of the fire, her pulse flying beneath my fingertips and well... sleep can wait a bit, I think. Besides... I don't think sleep is what I need, right now. No... I think what I need is...

Her.

"You know... I don't think I'm quite ready to rest again, ma vhenan. Not yet," I tell her, running my hand along her arm. Her breathing falters, and her eyes widen. I smile into them, pleased at her response to my touch. "I think I'm... hungry."

"Oh." Hawke blinks, then moves as though to sit up. "Then I'll go to the kitchens, get you something more substantial. Would you like some bread, perhaps, or maybe-"

I push her back down gently, keeping her in her place with my hand over her heart. "No, ma vhenan," I giggle softly, and then my voice becomes lower, taking on that purring, husky quality apparently quite of its own accord. "I am not hungry for food."

"_Ohh_..." Hawke says, smiling slowly in realisation, her eyes growing dark as she gazes at me, her pale cheeks tinged with a very lovely crimson blush. Her smile falls a little, and a worried look comes into her eyes even as her hold on me tightens. "Are you sure you're up to this?"

"Stop worrying," I tell her. "I'm perfectly fine. And..." I reach out with my other hand and stroke her cheek gently, once. "It's my turn to give_ you_ a gift, now."

"You are a gift to me," Hawke says quietly. "Nothing I can give you could ever equal the way you make me feel."

I smile at her sweetness. "Well... there's no harm in trying, ma vhenan. Think of it as giving me another present instead, then, if you prefer," I whisper softly, holding her gaze. I feel her heart race ever faster beneath my fingers as her eyes grow large with... desire. I think this is the moment to press my advantage, and... how would Isabela put it? Make a move on her? I press myself against her more tightly, looking at her with my best pleading expression. "Please, ma vhenan?"

"Oh, no, not the 'you kicked my puppy' voice..." she laughs softly. She raises herself up on her elbow, gazing me up and down with a slow, fiery stare, her deep blue eyes suddenly burning ravenously as she tilts her head. "Now that you mention it, I have something of an appetite myself..." Her hair falls into her eyes, and all at once I'm falling into them too, feeling my own heart start to beat wildly in my chest, and I feel it again, that powerful need, that longing, and I can't help myself. I need her.

Now.

I gaze into her magical, wondrous eyes for a moment, then lean over and kiss the side of her throat gently, and she gasps as a small tremor runs through her body. She likes it as much as I do, it seems. _Good_. I raise my mouth to her ear. "Ma emma vhenan'ara," I murmur softly. "Ma'arlath. Ma'arnuvenin."

"And... what... what does that mean?" she whispers haltingly as I press the full length of my body against her and place another soft kiss on her throat.

I draw back, just a little, and look into her eyes. "Let me show you."

I cradle her face in my hands and then I push her insistently down into the pillows, kissing her almost fiercely with the sudden strength of my need, my want. She takes me in her arms, her fingers drifting slowly up my spine, and then suddenly she flings back the blanket and flips me very gently onto my back, cradling me tenderly, laughing at my squeak of surprised delight.

"I think I can guess," she whispers wickedly as she leans down to trail kisses over my throat, her lips tracing their way up to that place beneath my ear, and I gasp as I feel her teeth graze the sensitive skin of my lobe.

But... I want... this time, I want to take care of her, first... "Hawke..."

She lifts her head to look at me questioningly. "What's the matter?"

"Let me... let me please you, ma vhenan..." I gaze at her plaintively, trying to use that... what did Hawke call it? That 'you kicked my puppy' voice... "Please?"

Hawke chuckles. "Careful, love," she says teasingly. "Try that on me too often, and I'll start to build up a resistance." She draws back a little. "Besides, who is the healer, here?"

I blink in confusion at the unexpected question. "You?"

"I am indeed," she nods authoritatively. "So no more arguing. Healer's orders. I am taking care of you, so... lay back, now." She smiles as she presses me gently into the pillows, holding herself above me. "Emma sa'lath."

Ohhh... those words... and that _voice_...

Her lips find my throat again, one warm, tender hand slipping down my body, caressing, _stroking_, making me shiver with pleasure, and I close my eyes in utter bliss.

"Say it again, Hawke..." I whisper. "Speak elven for me, please..."

"Emma Merrill. Emma sa'lath..." she breathes into my ear, and I shiver again at the sound of the elven words of love on her lips, sure that my heart will burst with happiness any moment, feeling my entire body tremble with desire. With... hunger.

"Again, ma vhenan..."

"Ma nuvenin... ma sa'lath..."

_Ohhh..._

I keep my eyes shut as my hands roam the length of her body, from the soft skin at the nape of her neck and over her back to the firm muscles of her slender waist, giving over all my awareness to the feel of her, to touching her, and I pull her down to me, hearing her moan softly into my mouth as her breasts press into mine. She lets her mouth trail down my cheek to my throat, kissing, nibbling, nuzzling me gently and making me lean my head back deeper into the pillows as she follows the line of my collarbone down to my shoulder and back again. I tighten my arms about her, and then my eyes fly open as I feel her reach around behind herself without lifting her lips from my skin, encircling my left wrist with careful fingers and raising it as she gently grasps my right arm with her free hand, loosely pinning both my wrists above my head.

Hawke pulls her mouth away from my throat and raises herself up a little, kneeling over me as I look up at her, trusting but questioning. She smiles at my curious surprise, and then slowly, teasingly, she runs the nails of her unoccupied hand lightly over my open palm and down along the inside of my arm, the ghosting sensation raising chill bumps over my skin.

_Oh!_

She leans over me, following the shivery trail with a line of kisses, soft as a feather touch, at first, each one growing longer and deeper than the next and I watch her, helpless with wonder, as she makes her way to the inner crook of my elbow, her eyes closed in blissful concentration as she reaches the spot and lingers for a moment, lips and teeth and tongue dancing over the soft, sensitive skin in the hollow of my arm, and I sink my teeth into my lower lip to keep from crying out... _oh!_ I never would have thought... this... oh... it feels so _wonderful..._ A breathless, thrumming sound fills my ears, and for a moment I think it must be the sleeping baby griffon purring...

An instant later, I realise it is me.

Hawke's fingers trail lazily down my other arm to stroke my breast, her nails tracing gentle circles about the tip before she cups it in her palm, kneading gently, and I arch my back, pressing into her hand, mewling softly. There's no other word for the sound that comes from my throat. She releases my arms and slips her other hand beneath my back, holding me to her as she nips at my earlobe gently, drawing a sharp, startled gasp from me as I tremble against her, the flames deep within me flaring and burning with heightened intensity.

She kisses along my throat and jaw, then back across my cheek, and I reach up to frame her face in my hands, sliding them up into her silky hair as her warm, soft lips find mine and her fingers drift along my ribs, down my side, running from my hip across the small of my back to my waist, stroking gently. She lays me back down again, holding my eyes as she slips a slender thigh between mine, and I open myself to her as she kneels before me, kissing her way along my body, lower and lower, until she is _there_... her tongue is like fire and water, flowing over me, _inside_ me, filling me...

..._oh!_

_... _and then her hand is there, too, fingers stroking, caressing, delving into secret places in a primal rhythm, a rhythm my body seems to know, to understand, to match without thought, a timeless beat, an ageless dance, and I cry out, pleading, praying, praising with that one wondrous word; her name, as I feel the heat inside me building and building until I know I can't bear it any longer... and then the fire burns through every part of me, warmth and light and joy coursing through me and my eyes close tight as I surrender, shivering, shaking, _quivering_, floating up into the sky, amongst the clouds, flying...

I think I can see the stars...

Hawke holds me as my breathing slows, as my body gradually stops trembling, and I come back to her. "Better?" she asks, a cheeky note in her sweet voice.

I lift my head and kiss her deeply in answer. "That was... amazing..." I murmur breathlessly, my own voice full of wonder. "Wonderful... I... I don't have enough words for what that was."

"You don't need words, my love," Hawke says with a low laugh. "You made your enjoyment clear without them, just now." She presses her lips to my temple. "And it only gets better from here."

I sigh in utter contentment, filled with a happy glow. "It can't get any better than this, surely."

"You don't think so?" Hawke asks, sounding faintly amused. "Just you wait, emma sa'lath. You'll see."

"What will I see?" I ask, looking up at her curiously. Then it dawns on me. There's more? She must mean... other... things... like... like in Isabela's books, perhaps? _Oh_... Of course, I do know there is more, after all; I'd need to be very dull-witted indeed to be friends with Isabela for three years and still not realise that, but... just how much does Hawke know? And what sorts of things? Oh! Does she... does she know any... dirty spells, like Anders talks to Isabela about sometimes? I wonder where you learn such spells... "You mean... you know how to do more... um... things?"

"Oh, yes," she says, giving me an impish smile. Her voice becomes a low purr. "Not nearly as much as some people I could mention, of course, but even so... There's so much more to show you, and this is only the beginning."

I stare at her in wonder; I never dreamed it might get better than what she's done for me already... I can't even imagine how it could be... but I very much want to find out. For a moment I consider asking her to show me, but... no. There is something else I want much more, right now.

"There is plenty of time for that later, ma vhenan," I inform her, very seriously. I lift my hand to sweep a few loose strands of hair from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear and letting my fingers trail slowly down to rest in the hollow of her throat as I gaze into her lovely face. "It is my turn to take care of you, now."

Her eyes darken wonderfully at my words, and my touch. "Oh, Maker, Merrill..." Hawke says softly, then takes my hand in hers, pressing it over her heart, and I feel the wild, racing pulse dancing frantically beneath my fingers. "Can you feel what you do to me?" she asks, smiling into my eyes, and my own blood begins to race once more at what I see in hers.

"Oh... ma vhenan..." I whisper. I sit up slowly once I can manage it and push her gently onto her back, gazing into her eyes. She shifts a little, smiling as she opens her mouth to speak, and I place my fingers over her lips gently. "Hush. Lie still," I tell her softly, but still very firmly. "I want to look at you." She obeys, falling still and quiet at my words, just lying there beneath me, wide, iridescent eyes watching me as I gaze down at her, drinking in the breathtaking sight of her; the strong, lithe limbs, the taut, toned muscles of her body, the full curve of hip and breast and the soft, pearly glow of her skin... "You are so beautiful, my Hawke," I whisper, meeting her eyes with awe. "Ma vhenan."

I think swiftly as I gaze down at her, wondering where to begin, running briefly through the things that Hawke has shown me already, what I have found that makes her respond to me, and the bits and pieces gleaned from Isabela's books and stories. The nicer things, anyway. I just... I want to show Hawke just what I feel for her. I want this to be about... tenderness, gentleness, caring. About love... All l at once I know what to do, and I'm not anxious, anymore. There's no need to be. I've... done this before after all, and Hawke is good, and patient, and she loves me. And there is no longer any place for timidity or nervousness between us. Not here, not now. Not with this, and never with her. There's only trust, love, and... boldness.

I will not be a kitten tonight.

I run my hand down her arm and catch hold of her fingers, bringing them slowly to my lips, delighting in the little gasp and the soft whimper that comes from her throat as I kiss them, touching my lips to each line, each knuckle, each tiny little scar crossing the smooth, pale skin. Hawke draws in a long, low breath, and I turn her hand over, pressing my mouth to her palm, then her wrist, making my way along the outstretched limb, resting it back gently beside her as I kiss over her shoulder, her collarbone, feeling her begin to tremble beneath me as I move down further. I lay my hand flat against her hip and stroke slowly up the side of her body to caress her breast, so... soft, yet firm, so lovely...

So _perfect_...

Softly, tenderly, I kiss the underside of the other, again and again, moving in a slow, ever diminishing circle, smaller and smaller until I reach the peak and stay, taking the ready tip into my mouth as Hawke moans wonderfully and folds her arms about me, sighing wordless encouragement. I must be doing this right, then, I suppose. _Good._ I trail a hand lightly down her body in a sinuous line, the soft pads of my fingertips drifting gently over her stomach, feeling the muscles bunched tight beneath her smooth, sensitive skin quiver delightfully in response as she shivers and trembles.

"Merrill..." she whispers. "Oh, Merrill... please..."

I know what she is asking, and I smile. "Ma nuvenin, ma vhenan," I whisper back...

And then I pull away completely.

Hawke whimpers in protest, chest heaving as her eyes snap open at the absence of my touch. I meet her wide-eyed gaze and smile, teasingly, drawing out the moment as long as I can bear it, and then lower my mouth to her inner thigh, watching with utter fascination and delight as she follows my movement, eyes growing ever rounder and darker until my lips touch the soft flesh. I hear her moan softly, and smile as I kiss my way upwards, drowning my senses in the feel and scent and taste of her as I reach the place and capture her gently, exploring, discovering, my movements tentative at first, but they slowly become more insistent, more... ravenous, as her cries increase and intensify, growing longer and louder with every movement, every breath...

I lift away from her at the sound of one low, harsh moan and look up at her anxiously, unsure whether it was a cry of pain, or not. "Did I hurt you-"

"Maker, no, Merrill, please don't stop, don't you _dare..."_ she whispers frantically between sharp, gasping breaths, and I smile in relieved delight and lower my head back down, teasing her, tasting her, _devouring _her as she moans rapturously, her fingers tangled gently through my hair...

...and then the moment comes and her back arches, her whole body tensing, my name on her lips as a hot shiver of ecstasy surges through her, again, and again, and again... I return to her arms, holding her tight as she quivers, and she cradles my head in her hands, pulling my mouth to hers in a deep, sweet kiss before she falls limp in my arms, her head dropping onto my shoulder with a beautiful, blissful sigh. I smile, and press my lips to her hair, full to bursting with happiness.

We lie like that for a few moments, Hawke's ragged breathing filling the air, and then Hawke rolls onto her back, pulling me with her so that I am lying half on top of her strong, slender form. I rest against her, looking down into her beautiful eyes and stroking her hair, feeling warm, and tender, and oh, so loved. Hawke's fingers trace idly over the skin of my back as she gazes up at me, smiling, her eyes full of light and wonder.

"You," Hawke says quietly once she can draw in breath enough to speak, "have been listening to some of Isabela's stories. In intimate detail." It is not a question, so I do not answer. Not in words. I only hold her tighter and bury my face in the crook of her shoulder, feeling the hum in her throat as she chuckles warmly. "Just as I thought." Her lips brush my temple. "You are incredible, my love."

I lift my head a little and look up at her, finding her gazing at me dreamily through half-lidded eyes. She is so beautiful, in every possible meaning of the word, in every possible way. I am so lucky to have her. So blessed. "Thank you, Hawke," I whisper, meaning many different things at once, and she smiles sleepily in reply, her eyes drifting closed.

A slight breeze glides across the room from a crack in the shuttered windows, and I shiver a little despite the warmth of the fire and of Hawke. I sit up despite Hawke's protesting murmur, pulling gently out of her embrace for just a moment to retrieve the crumpled blanket from the foot of the bed... and then abruptly freeze completely, staring.

Oh.

Oh, dear...

"Hawke," I whisper quietly, patting her arm gently to get her attention.

"Hmm?" she murmurs drowsily, opening her eyes a little.

"I think we, um... forgot about..."

I point over to the fireplace, and she lifts her head to see... and then her eyes widen and she gives a small, startled laugh at the sight of two pairs of bright, curious eyes peering at us from the hearth, both dog and baby griffon tilting their heads in an identical attitude of inquisitive wonder.

"So it appears," Hawke says wryly as she slowly sits up. I bite back a smile as she glares at her nosy mabari with mock reproof. "Yes?" she drawls slowly. "Do you see anything interesting?" He instantly looks away, apparently trying to look busy by gazing intently at the fire, then huffs warningly at the still-staring Feathers, who gives a startled cheep, glancing at him with wide round eyes, then ducks his little feathered head quickly out of sight below the rim of the basket. A moment later, very obviously exaggerated snoring issues loudly from within. Hawke looks at me, a wide, wry grin slowly curving her rosy lips, and then we burst into a fit of silly, elated giggles, both of us collapsing back against the pillows, shaking with quiet laughter. I cover us with the blanket as we lay down, marvelling at the blissful expression on her beautiful face as I settle beside her. I love the way her eyes smile when she laughs...

"Now would be a good time to rest, I think," Hawke says softly, once our laughter dies away at last. "Before we end up overdoing it, and you sleep for another week. I can't do that long without you. Not again."

I don't want that, either. Not a bit. I murmur a soft noise of agreement and she tightens her arms about me as she rests her head next to mine, drawing my body closer against her. I relax into her embrace, feeling a powerful wave of love as I look at her, wanting her to be the last thing I see as I close my eyes. Now, and for always. My beautiful, _wonderful_ Hawke...

"I don't know what I'd do without you either, ma vhenan," I tell her softly as my eyes blink closed.

"You don't need to worry about that. I'll never leave you," she answers, her voice growing fainter as she slips into the Fade. "That's a promise. I love you, Merrill. Emma sa'lath."

"And I love you," I breathe as my heart flips over inside me. I will never tire of hearing those words from her, any more than I will of returning them. "More than words could ever say."

Hawke kisses my forehead tenderly. "We don't need words," she whispers simply, sleepily, her voice a hushed murmur of warmth and love.

We drift into sleep... safe in each other's arms... as our spirits take wing and soar into the Fade...

Together...

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><p><span>Elvish translations:<span>

_Ma emma vhenan'ara. - _You are my heart's desire.

_Ma'arlath._ - I love you.

_Ma'arnuvenin. - _I want you.

_Emma sa'lath_ - My one love.

My assignation of the Vallaslin Designs on the Dragon Age Wiki page (under Blood Writing):

For those who are interested, these are just my thoughts on the design meanings from the wiki page. Some were already assigned, but I don't know where the information came from. They seemed to fit, so I kept them. Sadly there is no official assignation of vallaslin designs to the gods they supposedly represent, other than a few tentative guesses on the Dragon Age wiki, and the fact that Merrill's DA2 tattoos appear to be completely unique make it even more difficult. Also some of the other elves in the camp seem to have been given different vallasin in DA2 as well, for some reason, though not unique designs like Merrill's. It all got a bit confusing but in the end I figured that Merrill's markings are probably simply an improved, prettier version of the ones she had in DAO, done to make her more distinctive and unique when the writers decided to make her a DA2 companion. Then of course I had to decide which god those were from, which led to figuring out the rest. It is just my opinion, though. Not official. But I want to try and make my story as fully fleshed and accurate as I can.

Design 1 - Mythal, Protector of the People. I felt most hunters would identify more strongly with the gods of hunting and protection, and a lot of the hunters have this design, both in Origins and DA2, and since Andruil (the goddess of the hunt) was already assigned, I decided this one must be Mythal.

Design 2- Ghilan'nain. Mother of the Halla. This design looked a bit like curling antlers to me, like Halla. And the lines are quite soft and gentle, so this seemed to fit.

Design 3 - Elgar'nan, God of Vengeance. I thought these sharp, angry lines were perfect for symbolising an angry god of Vengeance.

Design 4 - June, God of the Craft. There are arrowhead shaped symbols in these markings, so I guessed either Andruil (for the whole hunting thing) or June (who is the god of making bows and arrows and things), and since the wiki already assigned Andruil, as stated, I'm going with June.

Design 5- Sylaise, the Hearthkeeper. Mostly because it was assigned already in the wiki, but I agree with it. There are symbols that look like flames in the design, and since Sylaise gave the elves fire, it seems to fit.

Design 6- Dirthamen, Keeper of Secrets. Pretty much because they were already assigned on the wiki. I can't really come up with any reasons why these might represent Dirthamen, but apparently they do.

Note: (Update) An excellent observation pointed out to me by Bebus regarding this design; the markings resemble the open pages of a book, which makes sense. Books = knowledge = secrets. Thanks!

Design 7- Andruil, Goddess of the Hunt. This was assigned on the wiki, and I agree with it. They are also reminiscent of antlers like Design 2, but they look stronger and fiercer than those. And going from the description of the elven artifact from the ruins in the Dalish Elf origin story, Andruil is represented as having horns like a halla or a deer, so these symbols seemed appropriate.

Design 8 - Falon'Din. You can see elements of the design Merrill wears in Origins (which is also worn by Arianni and Hahren Paivel in DA2) in her DA2 version if you compare them. Even though some other characters vallaslin has changed from what it was in DA2, (like Marethari changing from design 5 to design 6), I think that Merrill's is still based on her DAO markings, just tweaked to make them nicer and unique to her. And I think Falon'Din would appeal to Merrill for the reasons she said in the chapter. No need to reiterate.


	19. Chapter 19

_**Author note: ignore if you don't want to read my ramblings.**_

_Sorry it's been so long since I last finished a chapter. I didn't just disappear though, I've written a short Liara/FemShepard Mass Effect story in the time since my last post to this story, concerning the ending of ME3, which took up most of my time, so consider checking that out if you're interested and haven't already seen it. It's called 'Peace, and Happiness', but you can find it on my profile page under My Stories. I was also learning how to make mods, so those of you who play Dragon Age 2 on the PC, and like mods, then check out my profile on the Dragon Age Nexus (sorry, I'd give you the links but you can't post non fanfiction-related links here, the site won't allow it.) _

_Search for either my profile name, which is the same as my pen name: maximasdecimas. Or search the names of my mods, which are (respectively) Dark Dragon Hunters Armour and Vigilance Weapons. _

_One is a standalone armour, and one gives you the option to get the Vigilance swords from DA Awakenings into your DA2 inventory (plus I made an arcane sword... looks like a sword, acts like a staff...) They're okay, if I do say so myself. Shameless self-promotion, I know, but I don't care. Mods are fun. Just spreading the love.)_

_I wanted to have this chapter done much earlier, and I really thought I would have, but things kept coming up, like work and exams and surprise assignments and birthdays. Including mine - which was also kind of a surprise since I forgot about it. Ineptitude. Also I've had visitors staying, and for some reason they seem to think its rude when I ignore them in favour of writing fanfiction... can't imagine why. Suffice to say I've had a lot of commitments and also work, both the study kind and money-earning kind (unfortunately writing this story doesn't exactly pay very well... damn, I wish it did) so I'm struggling to find hours to spare to concentrate on writing. Also my sister is getting married soon, so bridesmaid stuff is taking up even more of my time; a business which should be exciting, and it is, but… the Australian federal government has just knocked back two bills attempting to legalise same-sex marriages this month, which is… sadly unsurprising, but still heart-crushing, so I've been a bit dejected about that. Sorry. Anyway. I always keep time for writing this, even if it's far less than I would like, it might just take me longer between posts sometimes. Enough of my excuses._

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and to all my followers and favouriters! Is that a word? Well, it is now. Also, to the person who made a guest review under the name 'quargon', I just wanted to say thank you so much! I'd have replied by PM to thank you, but that function isn't available with quest reviews, sadly. That was a lovely review, it really made me feel awesome, so thank you for all your kind words, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I also like that you like my humour, I always like it when people find the same things funny that I do. I hope you enjoy this chapter half as much, though this one isn't my best work. And on that encouraging note, here it is._

_Also, sorry. I wish I had something more impressive to give you after such a long wait, but I'm afraid you'll need to wait until I have time to do better. But, well, you know... you get what you pay for :P And I am sorry about all the uneven spaces of time between chapters. But not that sorry. I am a woman, and I reserve the right to be inconsistent. Please don't leave me._

_Okay, NOW here it is._

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><p>xxx H xxx<p>

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><p>"And here we are," Isabela mutters unhappily as the lift reaches ground level. Or underground level, I suppose I should say. "A lovely outing with Hawke to Darktown; to marvel at its many wonders. My morning is complete."<p>

"I did tell you where I was headed," I remind her, lowering the winch into its resting place on the lever mechanism. She seemed eager enough to accompany me when I ran into her and Varric, on my way to the bridge to Lowtown earlier, just as he was helping her out of the Blooming Rose. "You are here of your own free will."

"True," the pirate queen allows graciously. "Though I wasn't actually listening to where you said you were going. At least it's nice and dark down here, I suppose." She yawns widely, rubbing surreptitiously at her temples. "That doesn't mean I'm going to complain about it any less miserably, however. It's... far too early for this."

Considering that the sun is still barely above the horizon, she isn't wrong. Truth be told, I would much rather be warm in my nice soft bed with a sleeping, wonderfully naked elf in my arms than down here in this pit of old sewer tunnels, and toxic fog. But Anders has never sent a messenger to my estate before, and certainly not at such an hour. Whatever it is he wants, it must be important. Though frankly, anything that causes me to be parted from Merrill for even the shortest length of time had better be pretty bloody urgent.

"You know what I love about the Undercity? Absolutely nothing," Varric says wryly, stepping out of the lift ahead of me and glancing about. "Watch your purse, Hawke. No law down here, and we don't have our magnificent guard captain to glower everyone away, either. Bianca's good, but she can't keep everyone off you at once, and there are more crooks and con-artists down here than in the Merchant's Guild. And that's saying something." He is eyeing a brown-haired human woman in very ragged clothing standing on the corner as he speaks. She looks harmless enough. I doubt she's at all likely to try and rob us, and besides; if she did, well... don't I have the two best cut-purses in Kirkwall at my side? Everything I know about being a scoundrel I learned from them; surely they will be able to spot any tricks she may try to employ a mile off. Though I suppose they may decide not to warn me in order to teach me a lesson in... humility, or something. They do enjoy that, from time to time.

The woman notices my regard and steps forward, her hands raised in supplication, looking between us with a piteous expression. "Do you have coin to spare, messeres?" she asks, a sort of desperate hope in her voice. Her accent sounds Fereldan, perhaps from around Redcliffe or Lake Calenhad. She meets my gaze hesitantly, eyes filled with the shadow of shame and despair. "My children are starving."

My heart twists at the thought of children living down here, made worse by the knowledge that most of them must also be Fereldan; remnants of the refugees refused entrance at the Gallows, forced to scratch out a living in this squalid darkness amongst the rats and the rot and the chokedamp. Who could believe in a benevolent Maker when poverty such as this is allowed to exist without a thought or a care? What is being done with all the funds I have given towards assisting the displaced Fereldans in the city? Perhaps I ought to circumvent the immediate authorities and simply distribute my coin myself as I see fit. Starting now.

I reach into my belt pouch, drawing out five sovereigns. However many children she has, that should be enough to keep them fed for a little while, at least. "Here, take this, please."

I hear Varric give a small cough I do so, and glance at him. He is shaking his head, looking slightly doubtful. I daresay he thinks she's trying to take advantage of me, and maybe she is, but even so... whether or not she truly has any children, she clearly needs help herself. Her face and arms are quite thin, her eyes are sunken and her dress is hanging very loosely from her spindly frame. I think she really does need help, and if I can afford to give it to her, why shouldn't I?

The woman gasps as she sees the coins I'm offering, and she shakes her head a little, her eyes growing very wide. "Messere! Oh, no, messere, it's too much... I can't..."

"Oh, yes, you can," I tell her firmly, pressing them into her hands. "I hope this helps."

The woman stares for a long moment, and then takes the coins with trembling fingers, gazing at me with watery eyes. "Thank you," she whispers. "Maker smile on you!" She clutches her gold-filled hands to her chest and gives me a watery smile of her own, and then slips the coins safely into her pocket as she walks quickly down the stairs to the street below, calling out as she hurries along. "Walter! Cricket! Boys, where are you? Find the others, we have been blessed!"

Isabela gives a little chuckle. "Oh, Hawke," she sighs, half fondly, half in mock reproof. "Helping the helpless, as always." She grins wickedly. "Too bad Merrill wasn't here to see."

I glance at her sidelong, noting the suggestive eyebrow she raises at me with some apprehension. "I'm sure I'll regret asking you to explain that, but... why, exactly?"

Her grin widens. "Surely you've noticed how much she loves it when you play the hero?" she replies. "I'd bet if she'd seen that, whatever you just gave that woman would have come back to you once she got you home. In a very good way." She winks at me. "I can slip your random act of generosity into conversation next time I see her, if you like. Always willing to do a friend a favour."

_Oh, Isabela..._ I give her a slow, meaningful smile. "Thanks, Isabela, but no favours needed in_ that_ area, if you catch my drift."

"Ohh..." Isabela laughs. "Shivery..."

"Speaking of Daisy, Hawke, why isn't she here?" Varric asks as we continue along the dimly lit Darktown street towards Anders' clinic, shrugging when I look at him questioningly. "It's just seems a little odd, considering that you two are more or less inseparable these days. Feels a bit strange. Sort of... wrong, even. Or..." An expression of brotherly concern comes over his face. "Is she still hurt? I thought you said she was better now."

"She's fine," I reassure him. "But somebody has to stay home to make sure the griffon keeps out of trouble."

"Oh, yes," Varric chuckles. "That. Maker's breath, Hawke, you get yourself into the strangest situations. Don't know why I was surprised that you actually found a live griffon, to be honest; this is exactly like one of those fake stories I make up about you. So tell me, what's it like living with a tiny creature of myth and legend?"

"Wonderful, but..." I sigh. "Tiring. He requires constant supervision. It's like... having a baby. An unusually cunning and curious baby who can climb on top of shelves and tables and open cabinet doors with his claws. And then devour the contents indiscriminately. A good thing he appears to have an iron stomach."

"Aw," Isabela says, smiling. "You two, with a baby... It's a sickeningly adorable image."

Really? That's all she got from what I said? I give her an uncertain smile; I'm not entirely certain how to respond to that. "I daresay a child would be less trouble," I say eventually. "We thought it would be alright to leave him with the dog to mind him, but evidently not, since last time we went to the market for five minutes, we came home to find the kitchen was a disaster zone. Feathers is quite a bad influence on my dear old mabari, it seems. So until Mother comes back from Ostwick, someone always has to be home to watch him." My mouth quirks in a wry grin. "Unless we want the house demolished."

Behind me, Varric chuckles. "Sounds like he's more trouble than he's worth. That's even taking into account all the stories I'm going to get out of him." I give him a look, and he raises his hands in mock-defensiveness. "I know, I know. No names. I'm not going to let anyone know you have a baby griffon until you're ready for the world to know, I promise. I'm just saying, little Feathers sounds like more than a handful."

"I'm sure I'm making it sound worse than it is. Truth be told, it's only been a few days since Merrill woke up; I'm quite happy for her to have a few more-or-less restful days at home." I grin wryly. "Though, whether or not keeping a baby griffon out of trouble can truly be considered 'restful' is another matter entirely."

"Yes, well, as happy as I am that kitten is well, we did come here at such an ungodly hour for some reason other than discussing her state of health, didn't we?" Isabela asks with a tired voice, rubbing at her temples again. "Otherwise, I am going to go to bed." She groans softly. "Or perhaps... simply find a nice cool ditch to lay facedown in..."

"Head giving you trouble, is it?" I grin. "I don't think I've ever seen you suffer adversely from too much ale. And here I thought you were a professional."

Isabela groans. "Quintus imported a special dwarven brew from Kal'Hirol. Lava Burst. It's unbelievably strong," she manages. "I didn't feel it at all last night, but... well, it's certainly starting to hit me now. I'd never had anything like it. Can't imagine what in the Maker's name it's made from."

"Trust me, Rivaini," Varric chuckles. "You don't want to know. But it's a sipping ale, if you value your innards. I don't suppose you sipped, though, did you?"

"I most certainly did not," Isabela replies, a noticeable hint of pride in her voice. "Despite the fact that it... well, there's no other way to describe it. It tastes like burning."

"Well, then, I'm afraid you'll get no sympathy from me, dear," I tell her. And she won't. If she hadn't insisted that she was 'perfectly well enough to come along on some random adventures, thank you very much', she could be happily lying on the floor of her rooms right now with a bucket by her head. "You have no one to blame but yourself, really."

Isabela groans dramatically. "Oh, you are utterly heartless."

"Yes, well, my generosity has its limits, I'm afraid," I smile.

"And apparently the current limit is five sovereigns," Varric grins as we reach the run-down Darktown clinic at last.

Apart from the ever-burning lantern above the door outside, none of the candles or torches appear to be lit. "Anders?" I call as I push open the door and step inside, Isabela and Varric following close behind me. It seems unusually empty for this time of the morning, and no one waiting outside for treatments, either. Odd. If it weren't for the "matter of vital importance" mentioned in the letter he sent to me far too early this morning, I might think that perhaps Anders wasn't awake yet, but that would still be quite unusual. Where is he? I light the room with a casual flick of my hand and a silent spell, eyes straining towards the back of the room as I call out again with a touch of impatience. "Anders? Are you here?"

"Hawke?" Anders pokes his head around the edge of the doorway leading to his rooms at the far end of his workshop, and I wave the scrap of parchment containing the message he sent me pointedly in the air.

"I'm here," I say, rather unnecessarily. "You wanted to speak to me? About something regarding the mages' plight?"

The ex-Grey Warden hurries into the room, hastily tying his hair back into its customary tail. Evidently he didn't expect me to respond to his summons quite this hastily; though that does beg the question as to why he made it seem so dire. Perhaps it's just sort of normal for him to overdramatise, now. "Good morning, Hawke," he greets me, smiling. His eyes flick over my shoulder, and a look of surprise briefly flashes across his face. "Isabela? Varric? What are you doing here?"

"We followed Hawke, of course," Varric says wryly. "It's the only way we get to see the sun. None of us can go anywhere without her, after all; you know that, Blondie. More than most, considering where you currently reside." He quirks an eyebrow at the tall mage. "And good morning to you too, by the way."

Anders smiles ruefully. "My apologies. Good morning to you both. I am glad to see you of course, it's just..." He resettles his gaze on my face. "I... thought you might have come alone, given the... sensitive nature of the message."

Sensitive nature? "What do you mean? All it says is that you wanted to discuss something about the mages' plight," I say in some confusion, giving Anders a questioning look. "What, don't you think Isabela and Varric can be trusted?"

"About this, or in general?" Anders asks, quirking an eyebrow. "Because my answer changes depending on which question you're asking."

"Ha. You are_ such_ a wit," Isabela drawls sarcastically. "I can barely contain my mirth." She quirks one dark eyebrow a mere fraction of an inch. "See?"

"You'll have to forgive her," I tell him in apologetic amusement. "Her head is a little... unstable this morning. As is her temper."

Anders inclines his head comprehendingly. "Ah." He turns to the crafting table behind him and takes a flask of what appears to be one of his special remedies for the after-effects of too much ale, wordlessly handing it to her with a small wry smile. Isabela snatches it from him with a brief nod of thanks and a wink before heading with Varric to slump against the clinic wall. I shake my head fondly as I watch her lean against her amused-looking dwarven partner-in-crime, who seems no worse for wear after _his_ night of drinking and debauchery. She didn't _have_ to come with me; I was perfectly content to brave the streets of Darktown by myself. At least now she has one of Anders' treatments into the bargain. That's something, at least.

I turn to Anders, the rough feel of the parchment in my hand recalling me to why I've come. "Your message seemed to strongly imply your problem was urgent, or I wouldn't have come so early."

"No, I'm glad you're here, Hawke," he says quickly. "It _is_ urgent, I'm afraid. Once you hear me out, I'm certain you'll think so too. This is regarding the... matter I thought I might have needed your assistance with several days ago, before all that trouble with the damned Antiquarian." He sighs, the lines of worry about his eyes and mouth deepening noticeably. "I had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but I doubt if I can deal with it by myself. Not anymore."

Well, it must be serious if he is actually planning to involve me in Underground business. I look at him in concern. "What is it, Anders?"

He glances cautiously towards the open door out into the Darktown street, and then closes his fingers about my forearm and draws me further into the shadows at the back of the clinic. "Have you noticed how many Tranquil are in the Gallows courtyard lately?" he asks, leaning in towards me, keeping his voice low. He is standing so near I have to crane my neck to look up at him. Considering that besides Isabela and Varric, who aren't even listening, I am the only person who could possibly hear him even if he spoke at normal volume and wasn't seriously encroaching on my personal space; his over-caution seems a tad superfluous. "And don't tell me I'm just sensitive to it," he continues, apparently oblivious to my discomfort. "I've been watching and every day there are new Tranquil, selling their bloody wares. Good mages, too. People I _know_ passed their Harrowing."

All thoughts concerning Anders' unnecessary closeness vanish from my mind at his words. My eyes widen as I look up at him, a ball of anger kindling in the pit of my stomach. "But they can't do that! Doesn't Chantry law say that mages who pass their Harrowing can't be made Tranquil?" I ask incredulously. I'm sure I'm right. Father taught me all the laws that apply to mages, and I remember that one particularly; it's a rather important one, if I recall correctly. The penalties for breaking it are supposed to be quite severe.

Anders nods, eyes serious. "Exactly. That's what this is about. The Templars are using the Rite of Tranquillity to silence those who speak against them. They're working on a deliberate plan to turn every mage in Kirkwall within the next three years."

Maker's breath... "Who's behind this?" I ask him. There are many Templars I can think of who would lend their full support to such an idea, but there are also others who would not. Few and far between perhaps, like Thrask, but enough to argue effectively against it. At least, I would have thought so. Certainly this cannot be an open intention, however. "Surely not all the Templars can be involved."

"The plan is the work of a Templar named Ser Alrik. I've had a run-in with him myself," Anders tells me, a clear note of hatred in his voice. A pained look flashes across his face. "He's the one who did the ritual on Karl. Nasty piece of work, likes to make mages beg."

I feel a surge of sorrow at the look in his eyes. What it must be like for him, to have that happen to someone he clearly cared for so much... I don't know exactly what his feelings for Karl had been, but Tranquillity is a fate worse than death for any mage. For all that the Templars claim it saves the lives of the mages given the Rite, it is still a sentence of death, sure as execution or murder. It razes the mind and personality of the victim completely, leaving them as nothing but a shell; the life and vibrancy of the person they once were gone, lost, utterly destroyed. How can they refuse to see that? I know if the Templars ever got their hands on Merrill, and I lost her in such a way... Maker. I can't even think about. I wouldn't survive losing her like that. "I'm sorry, Anders," I say with quiet feeling.

Anders looks at me in silence for a moment, and then inclines his head once, accepting my sympathy. "Thank you." He hesitates. "You... can see why I didn't want to involve you. I'm sorry; I had no choice."

"I understand," I tell him. Truly, I'm just glad he is finally letting me do something, whatever it turns out to be. "But please, don't worry about me. I'm happy to help. What happened between you and Ser Alrik?"

"You know I've been involved with an... underground resistance," Anders begins, glancing about furtively as he speaks. "Mages, living free in Kirkwall, who help others escape."

"Yes..." I prompt with waning patience as he trails off frustratingly.

A strange look crosses his face as he gazes down at me, as though warring internally with himself over what to tell me exactly. "It was during one of our... operations," Anders says at last. "I can't tell you anymore about the Resistance, for your sake and theirs." I suppress a growl of irritation. This again? He doesn't need to protect me; I'm sure I could be useful to him! "Suffice it to say, I've been in the Gallows," he continues, despite my obvious displeasure at his reticence. His eyes fill with sorrow and anger, and a glint of murderous hate. "I've seen Ser Alrik's work firsthand."

That amount of abhorrence and loathing seems more than can be explained by Alrik's treatment of Karl alone. What else has this bastard done? "Tell me about this Templar," I tell him, concerned by the look of barely restrained rage on his face. "What else do you know about him?"

"More than I'd ever wished to," Anders growls through gritted teeth, a flicker of blue spirit fire flaring in his eyes for a moment. I take an involuntary step back, and he makes a visible effort to calm himself, keeping Justice at bay. "Sorry," he says apologetically. "It's just… speaking of this vicious piece of excrement makes me so _furious_."

I nod my understanding. "I can imagine."

"Not yet, you can't. But you will," Anders says grimly. Ominously. "The Knight-Commander is at least sincere in her convictions. However misguided, she believes she's helping people." He takes a deep breath, his face hardening. "Ser Alrik's a sadist. Cold-blooded as a lizard. He likes to experiment on mages, find out what it takes to push them into the arms of demons."

Andraste have mercy, how can Meredith be allowing this? All I have heard of her suggests that she does, as Anders says, truly believe in order and justice, not in needlessly abusing the mages under her charge. Maybe the actions of Templars such as Ser Alrik are being deliberately kept from her by a corrupt few. Surely the Knight-Commander mustn't know of such depravities... though on the other hand, if she doesn't know, it does not speak well of her control over the Templars under her command. Better that than to find the corruption goes all the way to the top, however, especially to someone as powerful and influential as Meredith. "Then perhaps the blame can be laid on him, and not every Templar?" I venture. "There may be more chance of getting someone to listen to claims of corruption in one man than the whole of the Order."

"That's what I hope," Anders agrees, nodding. "If we bring evidence of this plan to light, there must be men who'll stand against it. Perhaps even the Grand Cleric will finally be forced to act."

"How do we stop them?" I ask him, tilting my head inquisitively. "Do you have a plan?"

Anders looks about again in yet another show of caution, then bends down even closer to me, speaking as softly as he can. "My friends in the mage underground know of a secret entrance under the walls of the Gallows," he answers. "If we can find some shred of proof of Ser Alrik's despicable plan, we can bring it to the authorities. Show the world what mages are forced to suffer." He looks into my eyes. "Come with me, please. Help me find evidence of Ser Alrik's 'Tranquil Solution'."

I frown at the unfamiliar term. "What do you mean, 'Tranquil solution'?"

"That's what he calls it," Anders says, his voice charged with anger. "His idea of a 'peaceful' solution to the mage problem - to sunder the mind of every mage in the Free Marches! I'm told he's bringing his proposal to Val Royeaux, to the Divine herself. He would turn every mage in Thedas into a drooling simpleton under his command!"

"Then we have to stop him," I say without hesitation, my voice firm with determination and not a little anger.

"So you'll help me?" Anders asks, eyes filled with a combination of cautious hope and surprise.

I blink at him, somewhat taken aback. How could he doubt it? I've been trying to get him to let me help the Mage Underground for years, why wouldn't I help him now? "Of course. I wouldn't let you face this alone," I tell him simply. "And I can't stand by while monsters such as this man are permitted to abuse our people like this."

Anders gazes at me, a strange expression on his face. "You are the one bright light in Kirkwall," he says softly, fervently. He stares at me for a moment more, something unreadable in his amber eyes, and then gives his head the smallest shake. "I'm ready to go when you are."

I nod decisively, beckoning to Isabela and Varric, who rise and wander over. "We should go before Ser Alrik puts his plan into action," I say to him as they reach us, then quickly explain our intentions to them as Anders disappears into his back rooms to ready himself.

He is back within a few moments, staff in hand. "Our entrance is concealed not far from here," he says as we follow him out into the dank Darktown street, trying to match his swift, long-legged pace with varying degrees of success. "If we find evidence of Ser Alrik's plan, I'm taking it straight to the Grand Cleric," he continues as he glances back at me, his tone controlled, but his eyes blazing with unrestrained fire. "She will not be able to claim neutrality then."

* * *

><p>"What use is an impenetrable fortress built in the middle of a lake if anyone with the most basic lock picking skills and a disregard for cleanliness can crawl through these vermin-infested tunnels and waltz right into the Gallows from beneath?" I ask wryly as we make our way carefully through the damp, dripping underground tunnel, the ancient rocky walls heavy with moss, cobwebs, and a strange, oozing moisture I don't particularly want to contemplate. "Or waltz right out of it. Not that I'm complaining, but who in the Void built such convenient escape tunnels?"<p>

"Lyrium smugglers built them," Anders says, his voice harsh with disdain. "To service the Templars who crave the stuff. They weren't terribly careful where they were excavating, unfortunately, so they break through into the old waste pipes in more than one place."

"Yes, it does seem rather... fragrant down here," Isabela comments, her voice heavy with irony. She certainly sounds as though she's feeling better, despite our situation. Anders truly does know his remedies. I should ask him for some of his recipes, I think; sometime when we aren't knee-deep in muck and trouble… although come to think of it, if that's what I'm going to wait for, then the world will likely end well before I get the opportunity. Isabela makes a noise of disgust as she uses a patch of dubious-looking moss to wipe something particularly disgusting and unmentionable from the sole of her boot. "The smugglers would want to charge a fortune just for having to transport their goods through here, if only so they could afford a new pair of boots after every job. I suppose the Templars must really like their lyrium; it would take a massive shipment to make this trek worthwhile."

"Indeed. It's an addiction that has proven highly convenient for us, however," Anders continues. "I have personally led five mages to freedom through these tunnels. They bent to kiss the ground through the sewage."

"I can believe that. It's quite a comment on Kirkwall's attitude, that the Templars house their mages in an old slave prison," I observe quietly. "Really sends a message." I glance behind me at Varric and Isabela, who are following along at a slightly slower pace. "How are you both doing?"

"Don't you worry about us, Hawke, we're with you," Isabela says determinedly. "This Ser Alrik sounds like a real bastard. I'm uncomfortable enough with the concept of Tranquillity as it is; I can't even fathom the mind of a man who believes that ripping apart the souls of all mages everywhere just in case they_ might_ one day do something wrong is a good idea. And the Templars here wonder why so many people are sympathetic towards mages. I can hardly blame either of you for wanting to take him down. "

"Ever considered just coming out and making it open warfare, Hawke?" Varric says dryly. "At least then you mages might get a fair fight."

Anders gives a low, bitter laugh. "Even if we had the numbers to challenge them, the Templars would always fight dirty. They fear to fight us, so they destroy our minds instead. They're despicable."

I see a flash of movement through a doorway up ahead and grab Anders' arm quickly to halt him, pressing a finger to my lips as he looks at me questioningly.

"People," I mouth silently, gesturing towards the opening. He nods, and I motion for Isabela and Varric to quietly bring up the rear as we edge towards the open door. Voices ring from the space beyond the opening as we approach; the harsh laughter of men, and the softer, terrified tones of what sounds like a young girl, pleading with them. I exchange an anxious glance with Anders, and we increase our quiet pace, moving up to the doorway and peering through into the faintly lit cavern. A knot of men in Templar uniform stand in a straggled line, blocking the escape of a young, frightened girl in the drab robes of a circle mage. Their leader, a tall, bald man whose uniform designates him as a Templar-Lieutenant, advances on her menacingly.

"No, please!" she cries, backing away from him, her face filled with terror. Her back hits the unforgiving slab of granite wall behind her, and she looks about the group of men desperately. "I haven't done anything wrong!"

"That's a lie," their leader drawls, coming to a halt a few steps from the girl, who whimpers involuntarily at his approach. His face is turned away from us as we watch unnoticed from the doorway, but I can hear the twisted, sinister smile pervading his oily voice. He turns his balding head towards his fellow Templars, his profile just visible to us in the dull light of the cavern. "What do we do to mages who lie?"

Anders breathes in quietly next to me; a sudden, shocked intake of breath. I glance at him questioningly, and he gives me a meaningful look with narrowed eyes, his lips silently forming a single word;

"Alrik."

I feel my own eyes open wider as I look back at the scene before us. So. _This_ is the man_. _

"I-I just wanted to see my m-mum," the girl stammers fearfully. "N-no one ever told h-her where they were t-taking me..."

A low growl issues from Anders' throat. I glance at him in concern, noting the tell-tale blue glow shining from his eyes, but before I can say anything, they fade back to amber. "No. No, this is their place," he whispers to himself, clearly struggling with the spirit attempting to take command of him. "We cannot—"

The insidious voice of the Templar leader interrupts him. "So, you admit your attempted escape?" he gloats, clearly taking great pleasure in the young girl's terror. She hangs her head, and a vile chuckle issues from the bastard's throat. "You know what happens to mage girls who don't toe the line around here, don't you?"

The young mage's expression turns from fear to abject terror, and she drops to her knees. "Please, no!" she begs, gazing up at him beseechingly. "Don't make me Tranquil! I'll do anything!"

A single escape attempt, and he will make her Tranquil? Without the knowledge or agreement of the Knight-Commander or First Enchanter? Anders was right. I glance at my companions and nod my head towards the doorway, signalling them to follow me through as quietly as possible. The Templars have yet to notice our presence, focused as they are on the helpless mage-child they are threatening. It's rare that we have the element of surprise, and I would like to get the jump on them before they can employ any of their mage-handling abilities, considering their numbers.

"That's right," Ser Alrik drawls, a note of perverse anticipation in his voice. "Once you're Tranquil, you'll do anything I ask." The other Templars laugh cruelly, and the girl flinches, a dry sob of terror escaping her as she stares wide-eyed at her tormentors. She remains unaware of our presence as we edge silently into the cavern, focused as she is on the depraved Templar looming over her. Alrik steps closer and she cringes against the wall behind her in a vain attempt to evade his grasp, but only succeeds in making him chuckle revoltingly. "And I do... mean... _anything_..." he says as he grabs for her arm, drawing out the last word with sinister satisfaction.

_Maker_. I grit my teeth, feeling my nails bite into my palms as my hands clench into furious fists. _This is not a man, it's a monster. _Glaring around the group, I can see no women among them, which is further indication of their true intentions with this girl. _Monsters, all of them. You filthy mongrel bastards..._ Anders growls deep in his throat beside me, fingers clenched so hard about his staff that the well-worn birchwood creaks with the pressure. I doubt he can contain himself much longer. Nor can I; this has gone far enough. It's past time to announce our presence, I think. Not a one of these disease-ridden pieces of excrement will ever lay their filthy hands on this child.

"The Chantry frowns on Templars who take personal advantage of their charges," I say loudly before the wretched man can touch her, the high stone walls taking my voice and flinging it about the cavern like the ringing condemnation of an infuriated god. If I weren't so livid with righteous anger, part of me would be amused at the way the other Templars jump like startled rabbits at the noise.

Ser Alrik spins on his heel, a look of extreme displeasure on his face at the unwelcome interruption. "Who's this?" he demands of his followers imperiously, as though they ought to know.

"It's the Divine," Varric quips scornfully from behind me. "Come all the way from Orlais to tell you, personally, what a jackass you are."

"Amusing," Alrik sneers disdainfully, regaining his composure as he keeps his eyes on me. "You are interfering in Templar business, girl. How did you get in here?"

"You honestly think we'll tell you?" Anders answers scornfully before I can say a word. "You must be as stupid as you are foul."

Ser Alrik's turns his gaze on him, and a flicker of surprise crosses his face. "I remember you," he says slowly. "The apostate whom I caught in the act of abducting one of my charges." He gestures to his followers with a gauntleted hand, and they turn to face us warily, hands edging steadily towards swords and daggers and bows. "You eluded me then, but this time, there is nowhere to run."

"She was not abducted. She was freed," Anders snaps as I glance surreptitiously to Isabela and Varric, giving them an almost imperceptible nod, causing them to reach slowly for their own weapons. "And I have no intention of running, you soulless bastard. We learned of your vile plans. Your 'Tranquil Solution'."

Alrik gives a mocking laugh. "And you've come to stop me, I suppose? How dramatic." He signals again, and his men react instantly, drawing their arms as one. "A shame you brought so few to challenge me. Sheer foolishness, really."

The mage girl behind them struggles to her feet and takes her chance to flee while her tormentors are distracted, making a break for the stairs, but two of the Templars grab her roughly by either arm, the cruel steel tips of their gauntlets digging into her flesh as she cries out in fright and pain. I feel her magic blaze as she reaches for it instinctively, sending pale red fire flickering along her arms. One of the Templars holding her curses violently as the directionless magic jolts through him. His partner utters a short chant under his breath and the girl falls quiet, her body sagging between them as her mana is drained from her.

I bare my teeth in a snarl, my own power flaring in response to my anger. "Get your filthy hands off her!"

Steel sings behind me as Isabela brandishes her daggers with a flourish, her voice as hate-filled as mine as she finishes my threat. "Or we'll remove them. Permanently."

Alrik's eyes widen with righteous outrage, pale eyebrows raised halfway up his hairless head. "Another mage?" I feel a strange force pass over my body and shiver involuntarily just as Ser Alrik breathes in sharply, his eyes widening in alarm. "How has one with power such as yours eluded the notice of the Order for this long?" he snarls, and I stare in surprise. He must have used some sort of Templar power to gauge my mana. Their abilities really seem to border on magic; due in no small part to the lyrium they consume. Such hypocrisy.

Quickly, I raise an arcane shield about myself, altering the spell to fit it closely against my body to prevent hampering my movements. I have never fought against Templars in such numbers, nor in such close quarters; I do _not _want to give them the chance to drain me with their cursed lyrium-fuelled abilities. "The Templars are not as in control as you appear to believe," I tell him contemptuously.

Alrik glances about at his men, pointing his sword at me threateningly. "Forget the girl, seize this apostate!"

Anders' entire body flares a brilliant blue-white as he snarls in anger at Alrik's words. His voice deepens as the spirit within him seizes control. "You fiends will never touch a mage again!"

"Demon!" Ser Alrik exclaims in horror. "Destroy the abomination! Quickly!"

The Templars drop the young mage, joining their fellows and ignoring her completely as she presses herself against the rock face at her back, curled into a quivering ball. Alrik gestures, and they take up strategic positions at his back; archers on the stairs and the rocky landing above, swordsmen coming to the fore and charging as the dagger-wielding hunters skirt the perimeter, trying to flank us. I signal Isabela and Varric to deal with the archers first as I grab my staff from its holder, sweeping it in a graceful curve towards the oncoming line of swordsmen, encasing them in a wave of solid ice and freezing their bodies into glittering statues. At the height of my power, this spell would mean instant death, but Templars are protected by the essence of magic itself; leaving them at our backs would be a foolish risk if the lyrium in their veins warded them long enough for the spell to fade. We are outnumbered badly enough already as it is. I gesture to Varric, who lines himself up with the frozen men and loads Bianca with an armour-piercing bolt, then fires the hard-tipped projectile straight through them all with one shot, shattering their bodies with the impact.

"That's three for me already, Hawke!" he calls gleefully as he loads another bolt and aims it at an archer on the wall above us. "Better keep up!"

I smile grimly as I raise my hands above my head, sending down a rain of fire on the Templars at the back of the group, calling down each brightly burning ball precisely on their heads and setting them instantly ablaze. They scream as one and drop their weapons and fall to the ground, writhing and rolling in a futile effort to douse the flames. "I think I can manage that."

"Hawke, hit the deck!" Isabela screams from the top of the stairway to my left, and I fall to the ground, obeying the order as swiftly as though I were one of her crew, just as an arrow rips the air right where my head would have been. An instant later the body of the archer responsible slams into the ground before me, blood pouring from the gaping slash in his throat.

I shoot Isabela a grateful glance as I rise, then I spin on my heel, shooting a stone fist straight into the face of a hunter moments before his razor-tipped daggers find purchase in my back. Maker, two close calls in the space of a breath... this is going badly already, and we've only just begun. Swiftly I move to the edge of the fight before I can be cornered again and fight at range, targeting Templars with spirit bolts, lightning and fireballs, determined not to let myself be surrounded. If I let them get close enough to dampen my abilities, I'm lost; even at this distance, I can feel the effects of the magebane coating their weapons and armour beginning to affect me, weakening my spells and gradually draining my mana. Anders - or Justice, I suppose - seems to be having little trouble, however, engaged as he is in the centre of the throng, despatching the Chantry warriors left and right in an effort to get to the Templar-Lieutenant, unaffected by their lyrium-granted powers. Alrik's followers have him surrounded in a veritable human shield at their leader's order as he their lives to spare his own without a shred of remorse in his pale, cold eyes. There are too many of them. Andraste, we must have taken out a good dozen, and we're still outnumbered two to one, not to mention how constricted I am by the threat of the Templars' magebane and draining powers! Justice, still blazing with wisps of darkness and light, is still trying to fight his way to Alrik, while Isabela battles fiercely against two Templar hunters. She is holding her own, but she can't keep it up forever. I push with my mind and blast one of her attackers off his feet, and she gives me a grateful look before returning her attention to the other. With his last remaining crossbow bolt, Varric shoots the would-be duellist in the throat when he tries to rise, then pulls a knife from his boot as another hunter leaps towards him in retaliation, forced to defend himself with a blade little bigger than a breadknife. I cast a spell and slow the bigger man down, trying to give Varric a fighting chance, then glance towards Justice, now completely surrounded by swordsmen, all of them fighting ferociously. But they were defending Alrik... I cast my gaze about frantically, realising that Alrik is nowhere to be seen amongst his followers. Maker, if they're all surrounding Anders now, then where-

Sharp, fiery pain drags along the underside of my arm and my staff clatters to the ground as I lose my grip in shock, gasping at the sudden agony flaring along my limb. I turn swiftly to find Alrik standing directly behind me, the beltknife in his hand dripping with my blood as a slow, sinister smile oozes across his face. Frantically, I try to heal myself, but nothing happens, my mana cannot touch the wound. Andraste's mercy, the blade must have been coated in magebane...

Quick as a twisting serpent, Alrik closes the short distance between us, taking full advantage of my shock to hook his booted foot behind my leg and pull, sending me crashing to the ground. I scramble to my knees, trying to form a fireball but he raises a hand and mutters an inaudible chant. A wave of insidious cold chills me to the bone, and the flames flicker and die at my fingertips as a numbing quiet surrounds me, cutting me off from my mana like a clear stone wall. Oh, Maker, this must be what Father called the Silence... I fight down a wave of dread and alarm, struggling to my knees and trying desperately to think. Andraste, what do I do?

Suddenly, Father's deep, calming voice echoes through my mind as I draw desperately on the memories of his long ago lessons...

_'Templars have many ways of exerting control over mages with their lyrium-granted abilities, but the most effective and by far the most terrifying is the Silence. When the Silence takes you, remain calm. If you let your fear rule your reason, they will have you, so be sure to keep your head-'_

Alrik lunges down before I can rise and grasping the hair at the nape of my neck, forcing me to look at him. Instinctively, I grasp his arm with my left hand to ease the pressure on my scalp as I grab for my belt knife with my right, but my movements are slow, hampered by the deep cut along my arm, and Alrik kicks the blade from my hand. Panic stricken, I fight against his grasp as the familiar, terrifying feeling of helplessness threatens to overwhelm me; old, ugly memories trying to surface_. Oh, Maker..._

"There, now," he says, eyes shining excitedly as he gloats. "No point in struggling, my dear. It's over. Your friends are surrounded and outnumbered." I glance over towards the others, my heart sinking as I see the truth of his words, see Isabela and Varric, now fighting desperately back-to-back against a knot of hunters while Justice roars in wrathful fury at the circle of Templars trying to overwhelm him. Alrik gives my head a wrench, staring into my eyes with cold triumph at my choked cry of pain. "My men will soon dispose of them, but you..." A malicious grin spreads over his sallow face. "An apostate as powerful as you, left unchecked and raised without Chantry guidance for so long... well, I'm afraid that you are far too great a threat to the people of Kirkwall to be allowed to retain your mind and free will."

I hold his vicious, openly lustful stare, trying not to let my fear show in my face. Damned if I will let this piece of refuse win. "Not going to happen," I tell him furiously, with far more conviction than I feel. "I will die before I let you brand me, you bastard!"

"You speak as though you have a choice," Alrik laughs, leering at me disgustingly. "Such a spirited little mage you are. A shame that your passion will be stripped from you once you are made Tranquil." He purses his lips thoughtfully. "Though, perhaps I can delay the Rite for a few days so that I can enjoy you as you are. I do like a little fire in a woman. And a little... fight."

_'Remember that no one can unmake what you are, and that there is nothing short of Tranquillity that the Templars can do to truly take your magic.' _

Father's voice sounds in my mind again, helping to sooth the fury kindled within me at the words and the touch of the filthy creature in the form of a man accosting me. I force myself to be calm and obey the kind, comforting words...

_'The Silence is little more than a Templar mind trick, augmented by the lyrium they consume. But they cannot take it from you. You must fight the Silence in a mental capacity, not physically. Let go of your body and call for your mana.'_

Against my every instinct, I stop fighting, stop struggling, and let myself relax, trying to feel my way past the strange, intangible wall of silence, searching for the magic within me. Alrik chuckles amusedly at what he perceives as submission. "Good girl," he says, his eyes roaming over my body. "Oh, yes. I shall enjoy having you... as my charge." He leans in close, the fetid stench of his breath making my eyes water. "And once you are made Tranquil, you will enjoy it too, my sweet. You will enjoy _whatever_ I order you to."

_'Your magic is always within you, sweetheart. You need only remember, and reach for it.'_

The Silence dissipates as I tear through the ethereal barrier, hope rekindled within me as the sweet song of the Fade resonates through my entire being. I smile into Alrik's wretched face, feeling a surge of triumph as his watery blue eyes widen in bewildered astonishment for an instant before I push violently with my mind and send him flying, the force of my mental blast also hurling half the remaining Templars off their feet; freeing Justice, Varric and Isabela form their life-or-death battles in the process. Pirate and dwarf swiftly set to work despatching the fallen Templars before they can rise, and I struggle to my feet as Alrik hits the ground hard, sprawling in a graceless heap in the centre of the cavern - right at the feet of Justice.

Ser Alrik drags himself painfully to his knees, then freezes abruptly, gazing up in horror as the glowing spirit twists the face of its host into a frightening snarl. Justice raises a fist full of blazing spirit power, and Alrik draws himself up, his face regaining a measure of hate-filled composure.

"Maker curse you, you will pay for this," he says, haughty and self-righteous even now, at the last. "Mark my words, you corrupted, soulless abomination, you will suffer-"

The glowing fist comes down. Alrik shrieks as the spirit bolt envelops him, searing through his body and sending him into convulsions, twisting tendrils of magic writhing through the air and destroying the remaining Templars as well in a horrible cacophony of screams and howls. Isabela and Varric turn at the noise, absently wiping blood from their blades on the skirts of the already dead Templars and watching in horrified fascination as the rest of the corrupted holy warriors choke out their last breaths and die.

Once they decide it's safe to move, Varric begins cautiously retrieving crossbow bolts from the bodies of his kills at the perimeter of the cavern as Isabela picks her way over to me. She hisses as her sharp eyes note the bloody rip in my shirtsleeve. "Hawke, you're bleeding!" she says in concern, swiftly unknotting the scarf about her waist and binding my arm quickly. She clicks her tongue reprovingly. "You really ought to take to wearing something a little more appropriate for a fight, you know."

I raise a brow at her. "You're telling me about appropriate dress?"

She rolls her eyes. "I know, I know, don't say it. I can talk, right? But I'm not here as your example. And you'll notice I'm not the one bleeding like a speared fish. Just think about a little leather, here and there. Strictly for protective purposes, of course," she smirks, looking me up and down appreciatively, then glances across the cavern to where Varric stands. "Varric!" she calls. "You alright?"

"Fine, Rivaini," he replies without looking at us. His attention is fixed on Anders, still under the control of Justice, still furiously and futilely shooting searing jolts of pure spirit energy into the broken bodies of the dead Templar unit, apparently oblivious to the end of the battle. "Not so sure about Blondie, though."

A small, whimpering cry reaches my ears, and I look towards the source of the noise, concern filling me as I see the unfortunate little circle mage, still curled in a protective ball, huddling as close to the cavern wall as she can. I start to go to her, meaning to comfort her and make certain she's unharmed, but Anders – Justice – turns at my movement, slashing angrily at nothing with his staff, caught in a rage as wisps of dark spirit magic drift about the body of his host, his eyes blazing as he searches vainly for another target.

"They will die!" he roars, swept up in his righteous fury. "I will have every last templar for these abuses!"

I approach him with caution, watching him worriedly. "It's over, Anders. They're all dead."

In a movement almost faster than I can follow he spins to face me. "They will _die!_" he cries again, veins of glowing blue magic rippling across his form. "Every one of them will feel justice's burn!"

The little circle mage stares up at him, terrified. "Get away from me, demon!" she cries, raising her hands defensively as he whirls to face her.

"_I _am no demon!" Justice booms indignantly, stalking towards the girl, who presses herself against the rough cavern wall at his approach. "Are you one of them, that you would call me such!"

"No!" the mage girl quavers, terrified tears pooling in her eyes. "Andraste, please, take it away. I've been good. I've served the Chantry—"

"Silence!" the spirit snarls, and the girl curls in on herself instinctively in terror, whimpering in fear.

"Is this... still Justice?" Isabela asks, her voice subdued and uncertain. Her eyes are wide as she glances at me. "Didn't Anders claim it was a good spirit?"

A guttural growl issues from Anders' throat, the sound distorted by the creature within his soul. "I will have my vengeance!"

"Don't hurt her!" I start forwards, circling about him with careful movements until I stand between him and the terrified child. "Anders, this girl is a mage," I remind him, my voice low and urgent. "We rescued her from being made Tranquil."

"She is _theirs_!" Justice booms. "I can feel their hold on her!"

Swiftly I raise an arcane shield about the girl, protecting her from the spirit's wrath. I hope I can talk him down from his rage before this escalates; I don't have enough mana to protect both the girl and myself if this goes badly. "She's the reason you're fighting, Anders!" Maker above, I have never seen him so beyond reason. "Don't turn on her now!"

"Please..." the girl sobs. "_Please_, messere..."

"Anders…" I step in closer to him, keeping the shield steady about the petrified girl behind me. My eyes catch his and I hold his gaze, deliberately repeating his name in the hope that hearing it will help him fight the thing in possession of him. "Anders, I know you can hear me. You have to fight. This isn't the way."

"You stand with her," the spirit observes, twisting Anders' face into a frightening mask of anger as he gestures towards the bodies of the vanquished Templars. "Then you stand with them!"

"I do_ not_ stand with the Templars," I counter, trying not to let my anger at his ludicrous accusation enter my voice. "I am a mage. A _free _mage."

"No such mage exists. Not in this land," Justice snarls. "If you cannot admit what you are without fear, you have no more freedom than the Chantry slave who cowers at your feet."

"She can't help what she was raised to believe," I tell him quietly. "You will not harm her."

Justice surveys me coldly. "Anders believes you are the one to lead the mages to freedom. If you cannot recognise a threat, I have my doubts. However..." He pauses, narrowing his blue-veiled eyes. "I know his heart. Anders cares for you. I have no wish to harm you for his sake, but if you do not step aside, I will do what I must."

"He's my friend," I answer in some confusion. What threat? And what does the spirit mean; he knows Anders' heart? "Of course he cares. And I care about him. If you do this, the guilt will destroy him. How is this girl a threat? Why harm her? She's no danger to you; leave her be!"

Justice shakes his head slowly. "Foolish child. You understand so little of your own kind." He gestures to the trembling mage girl, working himself into a rage. "This one calls me a demon, and would allow the Chantry to subjugate her. All such mages undermine our efforts! In defending her, you defy the cause. You defy _justice_! I will not allow it!"

"No, Anders, you can hear me, I know you can! Don't let Justice do this!" I plead, staring past the blue glow of the thing in my friend's body, trying to see Anders beneath it. Behind him, Varric slowly raises Bianca, his expression reluctance warring with resolve as he aims the bolt point-blank at Anders' back. I shake my head imperceptibly at him, but he gives me a serious look and doesn't lower his weapon, determined to protect me. Hopefully he can do it without actually killing Anders, if I can't get through to him before Justice attacks me. "It's your body, Anders," I say with renewed urgency. "Take control!"

Justice glares at me, a murderous glint in his eyes as Anders' face contorts in cold fury. I raise my staff defensively, trying desperately to find some hidden reserves of mana as Justice raises a hand full of crackling azure fire, ready to strike at me... and then he stops.

"No!" The voice that tears hoarsely from Anders' throat is his own, clutching at his temples as he grapples with the Fade creature inside him. "I will_ not_ let you harm her!" The blue glow fades from his hand and his eyes as he regains control of his body, banishing Justice back into the imprisoning recesses of his mind. I watch him carefully for a few moments as he slowly straightens, breathing hard, and then I cautiously drop the shield around the circle mage, who immediately struggles to her feet and flees, stumbling up the stairs and through the darkened archway above us. Anders turns to me, a look of absolute horror on his ash-pale face.

"Maker, no..." he says, voice shaking. "I almost... If you weren't here..."

"Anders, it's alright now." I step towards him and put a hand on his shoulder, intending to offer him comfort but he flinches back, shaking his head.

"It's not alright, Hawke, I'm so sorry, I'm... I..." He staggers back. "I need to get out of here."

He turns on his heel and breaks into a run, brushing past Isabela and Varric through the door into the passage we came through, sprinting around the corner and disappearing into the darkness.

"Maker's balls..." Varric blows out his breath, lowering his crossbow. "Thank the sodding ancestors you got through to him, Hawke. I really didn't want have to kill Blondie. His diamondback face is far too profitably awful." He glances back in the direction Anders fled, the worried look on his face belying his irreverent words. "Should we go after him, or...?"

"Loot the bodies first," Isabela puts in, unsuccessfully trying to keep the eagerness out of her voice. She shrugs as she notices our eyes on her. "You know... give him a moment alone, and all that."

She has a point, whether or not she really means it. I nod. "Perhaps there may be something useful on Alrik's body, at any rate."

I approach Alrik's still smouldering body and bend down cautiously, trying not to touch him any more than necessary as I rummage through his belt pouch. My fingers close about a small roll of paper, and I pull it out, breaking the seal as I step away from the foul man's cooling corpse, quickly scanning the contents of the scroll. A small frown creases my brow at what I read;

_To Her Excellency, Divine Justinia,_

_I am well aware both you and Knight-Commander Meredith have rejected my proposal, but I beg you to reconsider. The mages in the Free Marches are past controlling, their numbers have doubled in three years, and they have found a way to plant their abominations in our ranks. They cannot be contained! The Tranquil Solution is our answer. All mages at the age of majority must be made Tranquil. They'll coexist peacefully, retain their usefulness—a perfect strategy! It's simply the best way to ensure mages obey the laws of men and Maker. _

_I remain, as always, your obedient servant, _

_Ser Otto Alrik_

So Alrik was truly trying to implement his Tranquil Solution across all Thedas, as Anders thought, but... he was alone in his endeavour, with no support from his superiors. This may not be quite what Anders wanted to find, but at least it is evidence that such a despicable plan did in fact exist. Perhaps there is some use that the Underground can get from this regardless.

Isabela straightens from her search of a dead Templar hunter as I finish reading, tucking the gold she just removed from the body safely down her blouse. "Found something, Hawke?" she asks curiously as she reaches my side, trying to read over my shoulder. "Ooh, a letter! Ah, secrets and intrigue. What does it say?"

"Not much," I answer absently, showing her. "Alrik obviously planned to send it to the Divine in Orlais. It just asks her to reconsider his 'proposal' about the Tranquil Solution."

"Is that what Anders was looking for?" Isabela asks, glancing at me inquisitively.

I give a one-shouldered shrug. "Yes and no. It proves that the Tranquil Solution was real, but it was not the wide-spread conspiracy that he believes. Alrik had no support from those above him."

"Well, we'd better go and check on Blondie anyway," Varric says, looking back at the passageway behind us. "Before he goes and does something dramatic."

He's not wrong there. We certainly need to make sure he's alright, given everything that just happened. "Yes, and he'll still want to see this, even if it's not quite what he's looking for," I agree, then glance towards the archway through which the young girl ran. I want to make certain she's alright before we leave her here on her own. Perhaps I can even convince her to flee the Gallows, then maybe some good will come out of all this trouble. "Just give me a moment. I want to speak with the mage girl if she's still here, to make sure she wasn't harmed." Isabela and Varric nod, and we head up the stairs towards the passage the girl vanished into. "Then we can head back to Anders' clinic to take care of him."

I do hope he doesn't do anything drastic before we get there.

* * *

><p>"Trash. Trash. Keep. Trash. <em>Trash.<em>.." The anger and self-loathing in Anders' voice is completely at odds with his actions as he crouches over the worn storage chest beneath his crafting bench, sorting out its contents in what I can only assume is an attempt to simulate feelings of order and control. "Won't be needing that anymore..."

Isabela and Varric glance worriedly at me. "I think you should be the one to talk to him, Hawke. You're better at dealing with... emotional shit," Varric says tactfully.

"Best not to make him feel crowded or cornered right now," Isabela adds. "And he'd be more comfortable speaking to you about this, what with the whole 'apostates in arms' thing and all."

"Fair point," I reply absently, watching in concern as Anders tosses an unidentified but evidently fragile item angrily across the room where it shatters against the wall. "I'll handle it."

Varric nods. "We'll be right here, Hawke."

I step through the clinic door, scuffing my boots loudly against the hard-packed earthen floor to announce my presence, though somehow I feel he already knows I'm here. "Anders, calm down," I tell him gently. "Throwing everything out isn't going to make you feel better."

He drops his head without looking at me, his knuckles growing white as he grasps the edges of the chest in a vice-like grip. "Should I feel better?" he asks, the words ringing with wretched despair.

"You're upset," I say, trying to keep my tone quiet and soothing. "We need to talk about it-"

Anders rises, turning to face me with a look of utter misery. "Upset doesn't begin to cover it," he interrupts me, voice trembling slightly with emotion. "You were the only thing that kept me from murdering an innocent girl! A mage! One of the very people I've dedicated my life to saving!"

"The girl is alright," I reassure him quickly. "I told her to find her parents, and then leave Kirkwall. Whatever else happened today, one more mage is free. That's a good thing, isn't it?"

He shakes his head, looking at me mournfully. "It doesn't make up for what I did. Not just to the girl, though that was bad enough, but to you!"

To me? I blink at him in confusion. What did he do to me? "What are you talking about? I'm fine."

Anders gazes at me with pained eyes, clearly distressed. "Hawke, I… I almost attacked you. Justice was fully in control, and he saw you as a threat. He wanted to kill you. What if I had…" He stretches out his hand to me, his fingers almost brushing my cheek before dropping his hand and stumbling back as though he doesn't trust himself to touch me. "Oh, Maker, Hawke, what if I had hurt you, or worse?! It's all gone wrong. Justice and I… we're just a monster, same as any abomination!"

"You were out of control. But even then, you heard what I was saying," I reason calmly. "You knew, in your heart, that you had to stop."

"You have too much faith in me," Anders says despairingly. "Without you, I'd never have known who was there until it was too late. I'd have killed that girl. I'd have tried to kill _you_. Perhaps I _should_ be locked up."

Alright, clearly the gentle understanding approach isn't working. I fold my arms, meeting his eyes in a challenging glare. "So you're just going to stop? Let the Templars win?"

Anders gestures helplessly. "Maybe they deserve to win. Maybe they're right. How can I fight for the freedom of mages, when I am the example of the worst that freedom brings?" His eyes are bleak and dull, without even a hint of the driven fire for change I am so accustomed to seeing. I have never seen him so without hope. "How can I even trust myself to heal anymore?" he says forlornly. "What if that... creature of vengeance turns on a patient? Will he... will I... resist? Or will I loose his fury?"

"Mages _are_ dangerous. Trained or untrained, we have power that people without magic can't comprehend. Power that some mages choose to use for ill, and others are unable to control," I allow regretfully. True or not, the admission is still a difficult one. "There's no escaping it. That's why this has been so hard." I reach out and grasp his arm supportively. "Make yourself a good example. Make yourself the proof that we _can_ control our powers; that we can be a force for good, not something to be feared."

For a long moment Anders is silent, then he places his hand over mine on his arm. "Maybe you're right," he says at last.

I smile encouragingly, hearing the first spark of renewed hope in his voice again. "I'll help you through this," I tell him. "We got rid of Ser Alrik, right? Meredith will look downright reasonable in comparison. Loathe as I am to suggest it, maybe the Chantry can mediate this whole unpleasantness, if we bring it to the right people."

Anders gives a short, dry laugh. "Perhaps." He gives me a questioning look. "Then... did you find anything on Ser Alrik? Or was the "Tranquil Solution" just another of my delusions?"

"It exists," I tell him hesitantly, uncertain whether knowing this will make him feel better or worse. I draw the unsent letter from my pocket and hold it out to him. "But it was Ser Alrik's plan, no one else's. He and his men were acting alone, and against direct orders."

"Let me see that!" he says quickly, all but snatching the somewhat crumpled paper out of my hand in his haste. He reads the note quickly, and then looks up at me, astonishment writ large on his face. "The Divine... rejected the idea. Meredith rejected the idea! This was... not what I expected." He glances down at the paper again, running a hand over his hair as he scans its contents again. "Perhaps I should try talking to the Grand Cleric," he says slowly. "Maybe she's more reasonable than I thought. Though... I can hardly trust myself to go to the Chantry right now. Not with Justice so close to the surface." He takes a breath, and gives me a pleading, though markedly hesitant look. "Hawke... I know I have no right to ask you for anything more after today, but I don't know of anyone I can trust more than you. And the Grand Cleric knows you. Could you bring this to her attention? And perhaps... this is a lot to ask, but if you could give it to that Ser Cullen in the Gallows, perhaps he can give it to the Knight-Commander."

The Gallows again. At least there'll be more sunlight this time, and less raw sewage. Rather more Templars, though. Wonderful. But I do want to further the cause of mages, and if this will help... "Alright," I tell him. "I'll take care of it."

He breathes out in relief, giving me a grateful nod as he grasps my hand in both of his. "Thank you, Hawke. And not just for this. I... owe you more than I can ever repay." His gaze falls on the makeshift bandage on my arm, and a frown of concern crosses his face as he looks back up at me. "You're hurt?"

"A knife cut," I explain. "Courtesy of Alrik. It isn't serious, but I need to clean it of magebane before I can heal it."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Anders says, hurriedly reaching for a fresh cloth and a flask of elfroot potion.

I stand still as he swiftly unties Isabela's scarf from around my wound. "It isn't that bad; I was just going to take care of it later," I reply, suppressing a wince as he dabs expertly at the gash. "It must be after midday now, after all." My mouth curves in a fond smile at the word as my thoughts run to home, and the beautiful elf waiting for me inside. She did know where I was going this morning, of course, but I wasn't sure how long I would be out. Maker, I can't wait to get back to her; I'm already deeply regretting agreeing to show Alrik's letter to the Knight-Captain and the Grand Cleric today. Hopefully it won't take me too long, and I'll be back in Merrill's arms before I know it. "Merrill will be wondering where I've gotten to."

Anders' hold on my arm tightens a little. I glance at him questioningly, uncertain whether his reaction was connected with my mention of Merrill. There is a pronounced downturn to the corners of his mouth, and his eyes are slightly narrowed. Well, there's my answer; he still disapproves of our relationship, then. I can sense another futile argument in the offing, but after today's events I'd really rather avoid another confrontational dispute of any sort, let alone one regarding my personal affairs. I pull my arm gently out of his grasp, trying not to let my annoyance show, mending the newly cleaned cut with a swift healing spell. "Thank you, Anders, but I can manage. I'd better get going if I'm going to make the next ferry to the Gallows."

"Of course," he replies after a slight pause. "And thank you, Hawke. I am truly grateful for your assistance in this."

I give him a small smile as I turn to leave. "You're welcome, Anders. I'm always glad to help a friend." He lifts a hand in a brief farewell, smiling in a tight sort of fashion, before turning to busy himself at his crafting table.

I close the clinic door behind me, glancing at Isabela and Varric leaning casually against the wall outside. "You heard all of that, I assume?"

Varric chuckles. "Uh-huh. And you got roped into another favour, right?"

I nod, suppressing a sigh. "Two separate outings to my two most favourite places in all of Kirkwall," I reply wryly. "Care to join me in my misery? The lift to the docks is just around the corner; it shouldn't take too long to get to the Gallows. Hopefully we won't get into another life-or-death battle with a corrupted Templar unit once we're there. Not today, at any rate."

"I can do the Gallows, but the Chantry?" Varric shakes his head. "I'd rather not."

"Why not?" I ask, somewhat dryly. "Too repressive for you, I suppose?"

Isabela makes a noise of agreement. "Can't blame him for that. You can smell the repression in that place before you walk in the door."

"Despite your many and varied attempts to relieve it?" Varric quips in amusement, raising an eyebrow fondly at the lusty pirate, who shrugs.

"Too many lovely young sister-initiates to corrupt; too little of me to go around. It's a slow process."

Varric chuckles appreciatively at her comment. "It's not that, anyway," he says. "I've always actually kind of liked the Chantry. It's like a building full of sweet old grandmothers. But honestly, I'd rather fight a high dragon naked than confront the Grand Cleric openly about the nefarious plan of a Templar we only just killed. That's just asking for trouble, not to mention finger-pointing. Followed by imprisonment, and the hangman's noose."

"But don't you see? No one's ever going to believe anyone would be brazen or thick-headed enough to do that," I tell him, smiling wryly. "They'll never suspect a thing. And besides, don't you want to record the moment for prosperity, or something?"

Varric shrugs. "Eh. Rivaini can fill me in later." He tips me a mischievous wink. "Besides, I've just had an idea for a story about you I can actually tell. You know, without getting you sent to the Gallows. Or... you know, the other type of gallows."

I raise a wary eyebrow. "A story about...?"

"You," Varric says, a very suspicious sort of grin spreading over his face. "Fighting a high dragon."

Something tells me I'm not going to like this... "A high dragon? Me?" I ask in confusion. "But I've never fought... and you said _you'd_ rather fight a dragon. How do I even come into this? Why can't you make up a story about you, for a change?"

"Well, despite my many impressive skills and attributes, I have to give the people what they want," Varric informs me patiently. "And this story would sell far more copies if a beautiful human woman is the one engaged in deadly combat with a ferocious high dragon. Naked."

Holy bloody Maker! I can't believe what I just heard. "What?"

"I know," he replies. "Sometimes, my brilliance amazes even me."

I stare at him incredulously. "Naked, Varric?"

"Absolutely," he grins. "Like I said, I'd sell far more copies if you're the one who's naked."

"Why does _anyone_ need to be naked?"

"Well, of course the dragon has to be naked, obviously," Varric replies with a small chuckle, then pauses thoughtfully for a moment. "But you're absolutely right. I'll have to think up a really compelling reason for you to be wearing nothing but your skin. Perhaps you could be bathing luxuriously in a stream moments before the encounter, blissfully unaware that the body of water in question borders on the dragon's nesting grounds. That could work." He looks up at me. "You know what Hawke? I think I'll have to skip the Gallows after all. I really need to start getting this down."

Oh, for the love of... I glare at him warningly. "Don't even think about it!"

"I think it's far too late for that, Hawke," Isabela says, evidently trying unsuccessfully to repress a giggle of amusement.

"Varric?" I call after the wretched dwarf as he heads off through Darktown. "Varric!" No response, although I'm quite certain I hear him chuckle again. "Varric, don't you dare!" He just waves over his shoulder and disappears around the corner out of sight. "Blast!" I mutter, and then sigh, deciding to let him go for now. I'd better get moving if I want to finish Anders' remaining unpleasant requests today, after all. It can take Varric quite a while to finish one of his little stories; there'll be time enough to try and change his mind. Or possibly break his bloody friend-fiction writing-hand... though I suppose some might consider that to be a_ little_ extreme. I'll have to find a way to... discourage him later. Right now...

I look at Isabela. "I don't suppose you'd care to accompany me, at least?" I ask her hopefully. I'd really rather not visit the two least mage-friendly places in Kirkwall alone, but I also would rather not put it off either. It's far less painful to draw the splinter out quickly than to let it fester, after all. "We get to take a boat to the Gallows. You like boats."

Isabela scoffs. "Those leaky little mop buckets ferrying people unfortunate or foolish enough to want to go to that awful place hardly count as boats," she counters, shaking her head in disgust. "They're barely even seaworthy. I'm afraid that's not much of an incentive, sweet thing."

"I'll buy you a drink," I offer. She raises an eyebrow in answer, and I bite my lip thoughtfully. "Two drinks?" The eyebrow climbs higher. "Oh come on, Isabela, please?" I ask plaintively, giving her my very best pleading expression. "You won't abandon me in my hour of need, will you? Please?"

Isabela shakes her head, sighing wearily even as her mouth curves in a grin. "Oh, Hawke. I do so love to hear you beg..." I smile, sensing victory, and she gives a small chuckle, throwing an arm about my shoulders. "Fine, I'll go with you. To the Chantry as well, if you want. But I tell you what," she says seriously as we set off for the lift up to the docks. "Two drinks, nothing. You're going to owe me an entire _tavern's_ worth of ale after this. And even that probably won't be enough to block out the incredible, depressing tedium we are about to face."

I grin at her fondly, giving her an affectionate nudge with my elbow. "At least we're facing it together."

* * *

><p>"And then Isabela went to the Chantry, and saw that it was... boring." Isabela sighs loudly as we walk down the grand Chantry hallway, her voice practically dripping with wry disdain. "Canticle of Isabela, stanza one, verse one."<p>

I glance at her, feeling a small smirk tug at my lips at the look of miserable disinterest on her face. She seems nothing so much as a sulky child, with that tone of voice. And that pout. "Don't worry," I reassure her patiently. "It isn't as though I actually want to be here myself. We're not staying any longer than it takes me to interrogate the Grand Cleric, I promise."

Isabela slows her steps, coming to a stop a few paces from the entrance to the worshipper's hall, the giant statue of Andraste looming above casting an intimidating shadow over the high-ceilinged room. "About that..." she says, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. She glances up at the raised pulpit above our heads, looking oddly troubled. "Do you really want me to be here? Perhaps it isn't such a good idea. My presence may not be exactly, shall we say... helpful."

I raise a questioning eyebrow. "What's your concern? I don't really need you to do anything while I question her grace. Just stand there, look pretty, and let me handle everything. You know; business as usual."

Isabela gives a small laugh. "Tease. You know what I mean. I'm not exactly comfortable coming in here at the best of times, but..." She sighs, crossing her arms. "The last time I met the Grand Cleric I was unceremoniously thrown out on my arse."

Oh. Of course, how could I have forgotten about _that!_ "That would be because it was bare. And in her bed. With one of her hitherto most promising sister initiates," I remind her happily, my smirk now a full-blown grin. "You've spoiled the virtue of how many Chantry sisters now?"

She shrugs disinterestedly. "Oh, who keeps track of such things? I'm not a 'notches on the bedpost' sort. Enough to earn me eternal damnation in the fires of the Void, certainly, which doesn't bother me much, mind you. From what I hear that's where all the good parties are going to be. But it does bring me back to my main point; are you sure you need me for this? What if the Grand Cleric has me hauled off this time, or something?" She scuffs a booted foot against the floor in a rare display of agitation. 'It's _boring_ in the brig. There's nothing to _do_; no ale, no sex, the food is absolutely terrible and I can't escape Aveline's lectures, not without banging my head against the wall to block out her self-righteous droning about decency and discretion and all that rot."

Hm. Well, when she puts it _that_ way... "You certainly needn't come with me if you don't want to," I tell her. And she did obligingly accompany me all the way out to the Gallows already, after all. Twice. "But I'm sure it won't be as bad as all that. Isn't a Hand of the Divine supposed to be all about the forgiveness of past sins, or something? Maybe she'll even bless you, if you ask her nicely."

Isabela makes a disparaging noise, rolling her eyes at me. "Oh, yes, and wouldn't that just make my day." She lets her eyes roam idly about the hall of petitioners and worshippers and then freezes for a moment, her eyes widening slightly in surprise. "Or perhaps this will," she chuckles delightedly, a predatory grin spreading over her face, and I glance about, trying to follow the direction of her gaze. Isabela strolls over to one of the prayer benches, and I feel a smile spread over my own features as I realise just who caught her attention.

"Well, well, lop my legs off and call me a dwarf," Isabela smirks, cocking her head as she stares down at the snow-haired elf sitting at the edge of the wooden pew, head bowed as though in prayer, looking almost ludicrously out of place in his bare feet and dark, spiky armour. "What are you doing here? Praying?" She gives an affectionate, if somewhat derisive chuckle. 'Never thought I'd see that. I'd never have bet I'd see you set foot in here at all, actually."

Fenris jerks his head up at her words, then leaps to his feet as though scalded, looking decidedly caught out. "I could say the same," he drawls after a moment, regaining some of his composure. "Unless of course you happened to ask for the 'bad girl special' at the Blooming Rose again? I would have thought you might have learned your lesson after the last time you did so."

"Ooh, and he gives as good as he gets!" Isabela laughs. "Though, I notice you haven't answered my question."

"Your powers of observation serve you well," Fenris intones dryly as he turns to me. His face softens slightly, assuming an enquiring look as his voice becomes softer, more polite. "May I ask why you are here, Hawke? I was not aware that you visited the Chantry often. You never struck me as a particularly religious person."

He's not wrong there. "Oh, I'm not," I reply. Not being a self-hating mage, I have never seen much rhyme or reason in putting my faith in a religion that demands that I and my magic must become a veritable slave to the Chantry or be killed outright, simply because of an accident of birth. And the teachings of a woman burned at the stake a thousand years ago, of course… or rather an interpretation of said teachings. Who knows how much the word of Andraste could have changed in a thousand years? And with her safely dead, she is somewhat unavailable for questioning to provide clarification on the matter. "For obvious reasons, I suppose. Actually, we're just here to speak to the Grand Cleric."

"Not me," Isabela puts in hastily, evidently feeling the need to clarify. "I'm just here for moral support."

Fenris raises an eyebrow. "Indeed? Given where we are, I would have imagined such a role would best be filled by someone with less… questionable morals."

Isabela gives a surprised laugh. "My, we are snarky today, aren't we?"

I grin at her. "Face it; you more or less set yourself up for that one."

She gives a one-shouldered shrug. "An act of charity, on my part. I am nothing if not a giver," she answers, then casually reaches out to ruffle Fenris' hair. "And I do enjoy hearing Fenris attempt to mimic having a sense of humour."

Fenris grunts in annoyance, dodging away from her. I bite back an amused smile at Isabela's antics, and Fenris's increasingly futile attempts to maintain his dignity.

"Are you here to discuss any topic in particular with her grace?" Fenris enquires as he hurriedly brushes his hair out of his eyes with a gauntleted hand, sparing a moment to give Isabela a chilling glare, which is met with a sultry smirk in return. "Is this perhaps regarding the... incident... with a certain very recently deceased Templar earlier this morning? One who met a rather abrupt and violent end?"

He's heard already? I suppose I shouldn't really be surprised, considering that our detour to the Gallows after leaving Anders' clinic gave Varric so much of a head start to bandy the tale about. It wouldn't shock me to learn that half of Kirkwall had heard the story by lunchtime, though I do hope that Varric has remembered to leave out my name, at least when speaking to strangers. I almost feel I would prefer the naked dragon fighting tale. "Indeed. I'm here to ask her grace about the despicable plan of that wretched Templar, Ser Alrik." I tell him, feeling my smile die on my lips. "I want to hear what Elthina knows about it, and if she claims no knowledge of the matter, then I want to know why her knowledge of her own Templars and their attitudes is so woefully incomplete." I raise an eyebrow at him. "I daresay I need hardly ask how you knew about it already. Did you run into Varric at the Hanged Man, by any chance?"

Fenris nods grimly, a light of understanding in his eyes. "About an hour ago, yes. Varric told me what transpired beneath the Gallows. So that was what the abomination wanted your help with, I take it? This 'Tranquil Solution'?" I nod, and he huffs derisively. "Why is he not with you, then? I rather thought he would jump at such a chance to openly challenge the Chantry in such a way."

"Ordinarily, I'm sure he would have," I answer slowly. "But he asked me to approach her grace about Ser Alrik's plan without him. He would risk being exposed as a mage himself, if he let his anger and Justice get the better of him while speaking to the Grand Cleric. I doubt that would end well for him." I hesitate, wondering how much I ought to say. What happened beneath the Gallows can hardly remain a secret for long, at least amongst our little circle, but nonetheless, I am loathe to be the one to give Fenris any more fuel to feed the flames of his hatred of mages, particularly Anders. But given what Fenris knows already, perhaps he knows the rest; such tales spread like wildfire among my companions. Especially when certain irrepressible dwarves are involved. "He is still... upset over what happened when we went to confront Ser Alrik-"

"When he became the monster he is, and very nearly killed that mage girl you had all been defending, you mean?" Fenris finishes for me, a blend of scorn and knowing satisfaction on his face. "Such a shock, I'm sure."

I suppress a sigh. So he has heard _all_ the details, then. I can hardly pretend to be surprised; Varric was with us, after all. He works fast. "The point that both of you are clearly missing is that he _didn't_ kill her," I tell him, trying to keep the hard edge of exasperation out of my voice. I can't say I don't share some of Fenris's concerns about the spirit in Ander's head - though not to quite the same degree, obviously - but I am getting rather tired of repeating this same argument. "He wasn't beyond all reason."

"I was there, too," Isabela adds supportively. "He stopped himself - stopped Justice - and regained control."

"The way Varric told it, he only prevented himself from doing so because Hawke stopped him," Fenris counters. "If she hadn't been there, that girl would have died by his hand."

"And I'm sure you would have been terribly broken up about that," Isabela says, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Mage or no, the child was an innocent," Fenris replies calmly. "One who did not fall to demonic temptation to save herself, even when threatened with Tranquillity and abuse." He glances at me. "There are few such mages in the world already; I would not have liked to have seen their numbers thinned even further. How can he claim to fight for mages if the demon inside him destroys those he saves without provocation?" His eyes narrow angrily, though his wrath is not directed at me. "Not to mention that he very nearly attacked you as well, Hawke. Does the man truly think he can lead a revolution when he is in constant danger of losing control to such a degree?"

I can't think of a single thing to say to that. My instinct, naturally, is to defend my fellow mage, and yet... Fenris has a point, at least in this case. If I hadn't been able to get through to Anders, could he have stopped Justice alone? I want to believe that he could have, but in all honesty, I... I don't think he would have been able to. Anders claims that Justice is a spirit of good; benevolent and righteous, but... that is not what I saw come out when he lost control in that dungeon. That was Vengeance; full of wrath and revenge and blind, indiscriminate, _murderous_ fury. I can hardly blame the mage girl for mistaking such a being for a demon rather than a spirit. And after seeing it for myself, so much stronger, so much more hateful than ever before, I... I am no longer so certain there is that much of a distinction between them, at least as far as Justice is concerned. Right now, I think Anders must be feeling much the same way. "I... don't know. But he is asking the same thing of himself right now, Fenris. It's tearing him up inside. Whatever you think of him, his intentions are good."

"And yet he sent you to confront her grace about this in his stead, risking your own exposure in the process," Fenris says, his lip curling. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Wait," Isabela says suddenly. "So... you met up with Varric at the Hanged Man, and then came here? Did you... come here because he told you we were coming to the Chantry? You did, didn't you?"

Fenris glances fleetingly at me and then looks away, clearly highly uncomfortable. "Of course not," he snaps. "I was... delivering something."

"Delivering what?" Isabela smirks. "Praise to the Maker?"

He shoots a glare at her, and she chuckles. "Oh, and now he adds smouldering to the routine? You are too precious." Fenris' glower darkens dangerously.

"Alright, Isabela," I say, feeling the need to step in between them before this escalates any further and we create a dramatic scene in the middle of the Chantry. Andraste preserve me, I do hate having to mediate between my companions like this, as though I were the mother of several especially unruly children. A rather inept mother who is generally unable to exert any control whatsoever over her brood. Though to be fair, it is usually Isabela who is the troublemaker, and it isn't as though I can simply send her to her room or anything like that. I did try once, but all I got was a suggestive smirk and an invitation for me to accompany her. I doubt I'll have any more success this time, but still, I feel I ought to at least try and spare Fenris any more of her merciless teasing before we have another angry-blue-glowing related incident in a dangerously inappropriate location for the second time today. "Enough. We are here for a reason, after all."

Isabela grins wickedly at the increasingly heated elf, ignoring my attempts to interrupt her fun. "You know, Fenris, if you are feeling a little lonely..." she says slyly, giving him a sultry wink, "I know a way we can take care of that. Several, in fact."

Fenris opens his mouth to speak, closes it, and then opens it again, looking somewhat nonplussed, but he is saved from answering as a brusquely authoritative and heavily accented voice rings along the corridor behind us.

"A moment, sister, if you please. I am here on important business for the Divine."

I turn, intrigued, to search for the source of the voice, which appears to be a black haired woman who is currently engaged in an obviously one-sided conversation with a very intimidated-looking Chantry sister at the entrance to the worshipper's hall. She is wearing a set of black armour emblazoned with a curious symbol; a white Chantry sunburst containing a single glaring eye, and possesses a pair of piercing golden eyes and an exotic beauty, though it is somewhat marred by the stern expression on her olive-skinned face. I hear an appreciative noise from Isabela just behind me and grin; I can almost see her undressing the woman with her eyes. Maker knows I've felt the same stare turned in my direction, more than once. From the dark-haired newcomer's severe demeanour, however, I'm not certain she would be particularly… shall we say, receptive to Isabela's attentions. It's merely a hunch.

"I must speak with the Grand Cleric," the woman declares, folding her gauntleted forearms. "Direct me to her."

The Chantry sister to whom she is speaking visibly shrinks in on herself, stuttering helplessly as she gazes up at the taller woman towering over her. "I... I, ah..."

Poor thing. A cloistered life provides very little in the way of self-confidence, it seems. Perhaps I ought to take pity on her, Chantry sister or no. "Whenever she isn't giving a sermon or administering to her flock, she generally can be found standing about unobtrusively on the dais," I grin at the intimidating woman, walking up to her as the rattled looking sister takes her chance to slip away unnoticed by the imposing stranger. "Just up the steps on your left. Or your right, if you prefer. You get to choose. Isn't it fun?"

The woman raises a finely curved brow, her expression guarded and rather haughty. "You are easily amused," she comments, looking down her nose at me.

Self-important _and_ arrogant, are we? Oh, dear. "I am indeed. I make it a point to be. Life is far more enjoyable that way," I counter, refusing to be cowed. "Besides, there is little enough liberty in day-to-day life as it is. I relish the freedom in every choice available to me."

"I see," the woman says. "I suppose that is fair."

"That's an... interesting accent you have," Isabela interjects as she steps up beside me, her voice a sultry purr. She raises an openly suggestive eyebrow. "Exotic. Intriguing. Nevarran, perhaps?"

"I am Nevarran by birth, yes," the woman says, inclining her head, either oblivious to Isabela's flirtatious inflections or ignoring them. "From a clan of dragon hunters to the north. I came to Orlais when I reached my majority, and have been a Chantry Seeker for several years."

I grin, unable to help myself. "Well, you've finally found one," I quip irreverently, glancing about the grand interior of the Chantry. "A rather nice one, at that. Congratulations. Your long search is over."

The woman stares at me for a moment, then quite surprisingly smiles a little, giving her whole face a much pleasanter cast. "You are a wit, I see. And not one to be easily intimidated. How refreshing. Might I have your name?"

I incline my head. "My name is Hawke."

The Seeker returns a slight nod of her own. "I am Cassandra Pentaghast."

A strange sense of foreboding shivers through me at the sound of her name. I'm not certain what caused it, precisely, but... it gives me very a strong urge to exercise caution about this woman. "A pleasure to meet you," I say as I attempt to interpret this new subconscious warning. Seekers of the Chantry, from what I have heard, are occasionally sent to assist Templars to search for particularly powerful and elusive apostates, but I am not so arrogant to assume she could possibly be looking for me. There is no reason I can discern to make me feel this way. Still… Cassandra Pentaghast. Seeker or no, this is a woman to be reckoned with. I will have to remember that.

"You've come by ship all the way from Orlais?" Isabela asks, the light in her eyes suggesting her interest is a professional one rather than anything else, for the moment, at least. Though I rather doubt that will last beyond the space of a breath or two. "It's quite an arduous journey across the Waking Sea. I ought to know; I've sailed through more storms in that Maker-forsaken channel than I care to remember. Is this voyage strictly business, or is there room for… pleasure?" Isabela smiles wickedly, letting her eyes trail openly over the woman's body. I bite my cheek to hide a grin. _And there it is..._ "If it's the latter, I would be happy to give you the… grand tour."

The corner of the Seeker's mouth twitches ever so slightly, though whether in amusement or irritation, I can't tell. "Strictly business," she says, very pointedly.

Isabela sighs. "Such a shame."

"I am here to inspect Kirkwall's Templars, as my duty as a Seeker dictates," Cassandra says, proceeding to ignore the lusty pirate. "There have been murmurs of dissent with regards to the operation of the Gallows; abuses of power, mistreatment of the... inhabitants of the Circle, here, even demonic possession. I have been sent to address these concerns and discover if there is any truth to the rumours."

Inspect the Templars? I feel my eyebrows lift a little; I wasn't aware that the actions of the Templars were watched, much less from an organisation outside of the ranks. "I confess; I know little of the Seekers. What exactly do you do?"

Cassandra draws herself up. "The Seekers of Truth answer directly to the Divine in Val Royeaux. Seekers are sworn to uphold the word of Andraste by ensuring the integrity of the Templar Order is maintained, rooting out corruption wherever it may be found," she answers proudly. "The Templars must represent the Chantry to the highest standard, without exception. We exist to ensure that they do so. It is not our sole function, of course, but it is a great responsibility."

"Indeed?" I reply quietly. If she is truly here to root out corruption amongst the Templars, then I hope she brought rather a lot of manacles. Such an onerous job she has before her. At least I have lessened her burden by a good score of corrupt Templars today, though it would be remiss of me not to help her further. There are many more rotten holy warriors in the ranks, after all. Perhaps this is a fortuitous meeting after all, if this Seeker can act in my stead on the distressing piece of information I learned from Alain, the former Starkhaven Circle mage who was mixed up with Decimus and Grace, and their merry band of blood mages. Information about the treatment suffered by mages, and a certain Templar bastard named Karras. "Perhaps I can be of assistance."

Cassandra raises a sculpted eyebrow. "I take it you have something for me?"

I feel my expression harden as I remember my conversation with poor young Alain. "I visited the herbalist's stall at the Gallows earlier today, and met with a young apprentice of my acquaintance."

"You engage in relationships with mages?" the Seeker asks, a small frown creasing her brow. I bite the inside of my cheek to conceal a sudden surge of mirth. _If you only knew how many ways that was true..._ "How do you know this apprentice?"

Well, that is a story I have neither the time nor the patience to recount in full, not today, at any rate. But I think the short version will satisfy her, if I put it right. "I... brought him to the Circle myself several years ago, at his own request. I wanted to see if he was well. He told me... some disturbing things." I rub uncomfortably at the back of my neck as I remember Alain's words, and the fearful tone in his voice as he confided in me;

'_Ser Karras says that if I tell anyone he's been in my chambers, he'll make me Tranquil…'_ Maker, but I wish I had convinced him not to go to the Circle when I had the chance. But I wanted to find Grace and the others before the Templars came, and there was so little time...

"Mages are confined to their cells and subjected to beatings on a regular basis, for the slightest offence. And worse," I tell the Seeker darkly. "From what I have heard, some Templars are all too eager to take personal advantage of the mages under their- shall we say, care. My friend was too afraid to say anything more; the Templar in question told him he would be made Tranquil if he told anyone about the... late night visits to his quarters." Cassandra's eyes flare in understanding, and her lips tighten in anger. Relief floods me at her reaction; despite her apparent wariness of mages, it seems she truly is looking to prevent the Templars from abusing their positions, and the mages under their 'protection.' If I can do anything to help them myself, I will. At least Ser Alrik has already been dealt with. "I do not wish to betray his confidence, but..." I lower my voice, taking a small step closer to the Seeker. "You may wish to direct you attention towards a templar by the name of Ser Karras. Though you did not hear this from me."

"Karras," Cassandra repeats, her eyes hard. "I will investigate him as soon as I have finished speaking to her grace. Thank you, Serah Hawke." She gives a slight bow and takes her leave, marching through the worshipper's hall and up the stairs to the Grand Cleric's dais with quick, precise steps, head held high.

Isabela watches her go appreciatively. "Oh, I do love a woman in uniform," she sighs wistfully.

"I think that one is beyond even your powers of seduction," Fenris drawls, dry humour clear in his voice as he moves over to us, evidently having preferred to remain unnoticed by the Seeker. I can hardly blame him.

"Nonsense," Isabela scoffs dismissively. "A challenge, perhaps, but not beyond the realms of possibility."

Fenris chuckles. "I admire your confidence. Though, perhaps in view of her position, you may wish to let this one go; particularly considering all the apostates of your acquaintance." He looks at me, his face taking on a worried cast. "Be careful, Hawke. It is already dangerous enough for you to be here. Perhaps it isn't wise for you to draw the attention of Chantry Seekers, of all people."

He's not wrong there. "About as wise as all my frequent trips to the Gallows on one errand or another," I reply wryly. "I just can't seem to help it. Too late now, at any rate. I'm sure I would have run into her at one time or another, most likely at a far more inconvenient moment. In the middle of casting a fireball, for instance." I shrug, a small grin curving my lips. "After all, nobody expects the Andrastian Inquisition."

"Hawke?" I turn at the sound of my name, spoken in the familiar northern brogue of Prince Sebastian Vael, heir claimant to the throne of Starkhaven. Maker's breath, has the Chantry become the new epicentre of chance meetings? Though, come to think of it, meeting Sebastian here isn't really all that surprising; it was his home from the age of fifteen, after all. He smiles as he approaches us, blue eyes shining as brightly as his pristine armour. "And Isabela, Fenris! I certainly did not expect to see any of you here. What brings you to the Chantry?"

"I'm here to see Elthina about a... delicate matter," I reply, knowing that he will not presume to pry into anything I imply to be private.

"Ah. Then I will not intrude," Sebastian says, inclining his head graciously. He turns his gaze on my companions. "And you two are just tagging along, I suppose?"

"Would I be here otherwise?" Isabela sighs. "Hawke takes us to the nicest places."

"I'm sure you've been to worse," Sebastian chuckles. "At least the Chantry is dry, and relatively clean. And not rife with bandits or slavers of any description. Well, not at the moment, at least."

Isabela gives him a wry grin. "True enough."

"How goes the campaign to retake your city?" I ask with polite interest.

Sebastian sighs. "Not well, I'm afraid. I am still spending most of my time of late trying to discover who was behind the assassination of my family, though I have petitioned the Viscount for aid to reclaim my birthright. He has yet to give me a definitive answer, however. Nor have any of the other rulers in the cities I have visited."

"Perhaps you ought to reconsider your approach," Fenris suggests. "Muster support amongst your people, rather than insisting on aid from foreign leaders to whom you will be indebted. If there is anything I have learned from the company I have kept these past three years, it is that people will much more willingly give their hearts to someone who will do, rather than demand."

"You make an interesting point," Sebastian says thoughtfully. "You seem to have a head for such matters; I would like to hear your advice on a few matters, if you wouldn't mind."

"Certainly, though I don't know that I will be of much assistance." Fenris looks at me, inclining his head. "And we should allow Hawke to speak with the Grand Cleric."

"I just finished talking with her myself. She is up in the pulpit, speaking with a Seeker from Orlais," Sebastian tells me helpfully. "The Divine must be concerned about the growing unrest of the mages in the Kirkwall circle, to send a Seeker here."

"As long as someone is concerned," I reply quietly. When he puts it that way, it does sound encouraging that the Divine herself believes that the trouble amongst the circle may be attributed to the Templars, at least in part. Of course, if she decides that the problem is the mages instead... I sigh imperceptibly, shaking off my sober thoughts as I turn to Isabela, motioning to the dais. "Shall we?"

She nods, and we leave the two men quietly discussing politics as we ascend the stairs, reaching the top in time to see Cassandra bowing in farewell as she takes her leave of Elthina. She turns as we approach, giving me a faintly respectful sort of nod as she passes us on her way to the stairwell, which I return. A formidable woman, that one. I wish her well on her search for corruption amongst the Templars, though I doubt she'll need any luck from me. She seems more than capable; the Templars should begin looking over their shoulders. I know I wouldn't want to be the one she was hunting for.

"Hello again, Hawke," the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall greets me solemnly as I reach her, while Isabela hangs back a little, trying to remain unnoticed. Elthina gestures toward the black-armoured Seeker as she reaches the end of the entrance hall and marches purposefully out through the gilded Chantry doors. "Seeker Cassandra was impressed with your presence of mind. Most people are too intimidated to speak freely with her."

She spoke about me with Elthina? I suppose I must have made quite an impression on her. "She may want to work on her people skills a little," I comment lightly, then my voice hardens a little as I recall the reason I came here to question her. "But if she's come to sniff out corruption in the Templar ranks, then she has truly impeccable timing."

Elthina blinks in some surprise. "What do you mean by that, child?"

I draw in a deep breath, swiftly working out how to broach the topic. "I have... heard a rumour... of something called the Tranquil Solution," I tell her, watching her face for some sign of recognition. Her eyes widen a little, her mouth tightening slightly. So she has heard of it, though I cannot tell if her reaction is one of alarm, or distaste at the mention of the reprehensible plan. I meet her eyes somewhat challengingly. "Is it true the Templars are planning to use the Rite of Tranquillity on every mage in the city?"

"What?" Elthina gasps, sounding genuinely shocked and affronted. "No! It's not an uncommon gripe to hear in the Templar barracks, but the Chantry has never supported such a thing."

A gripe, is it? That is not the impression I got from Knight-Captain Cullen. He seemed to approve of using the Rite on more mages, albeit more or less tacitly. "The issue is a little more serious than you seem to believe," I inform her grimly. "I think you should see these papers, written by one of your own Templars."

She takes the letter I offer her and reads it, her storm-grey eyes darting swiftly across the crinkled page. They open wide in confusion as she frowns at the paper in her hand. "This is... Ser Alrik's signature," she says, glancing up from the paper to look at me, a suspicious frown turning down the corners of her mouth. "Where did you get these? We just got word that he was murdered in the Gallows not a few hours ago!"

So they have discovered him already. That is unfortunate, but not unanticipated. I gaze back at her levelly, showing nothing of my thoughts in my expression. "I can't say I'm sorry to hear that. From what I have been told, the man was known to be using his position to torture and assault the mages under his charge. And using the Rite of Tranquillity without authorisation to cover up his abuses. If he hadn't met such an end, I am certain he would have been first on Seeker Cassandra's investigation list," I say, unable to resist the urge to denounce the vile man's name. "The Order is well rid of him. As for the papers, they... fell into my hands a few days ago. Quite mysteriously," I lie smoothly. "I have contacts. Cutpurses and pickpockets and the like. I don't ask where they get their information, or how. The point is; they prove that Alrik had a plan to turn every mage in Kirkwall Tranquil! He even approached both the Knight-Commander and the Divine about this, though fortunately the letter suggests they denied him. But you must have known something about this. Why deny it?"

Elthina gives me a measured look. "Ser Alrik made a suggestion, yes," she says calmly. "But we turned him down." Well, certainly his suggestion was turned down. If _every_ mage was Tranquil, there would be no magic left to control. No war spells, no healing. How would the Chantry and Templars fare, relying on hensbane and leeches to cure their ailments instead of the talents of their pet mages? No wonder the plan was rejected.. Though I daresay it had put the idea of, as Cullen put it, applying the Rite more widely into the heads of many with the authority to make it happen; disposing of the weaker or less malleable mages, and keeping the most powerful and tractable intact for their own uses. Hypocrites. "The Rite of Tranquillity has always been a last resort," Elthina continues. "It has saved lives, but is not without its costs."

Indeed. The cost is a life worth living. I just don't understand how anyone could believe that a meaningless existence as a soulless shell without joy, without love, without any sort of emotion at all is better than a quick, clean death. No more than I can understand how a compassionate woman like Elthina can stand by, knowing what mages suffer. She must know. I hold her eyes seriously, wanting a straight, clear cut answer to the question I am about to voice. "Your Grace... are you truly intending to stay neutral about the mages forever?"

"You mean to ask which side I favour? Destroying the mages or setting them free?" she asks, and I nod, after a slight pause. I did not expect her to so bluntly phrase the matter in such extremes. "I cannot take sides. There are many strong opinions in this city, child. It is not my place to decide who is right."

"But you are the voice of morality within the city," I argue. "People look to you to know what is right. Shouldn't the Chantry have a more active hand in matters such as this?"

"The Chantry is not a domineering father with the whip always in hand," Elthina answers, her voice kind, but somewhat dismissive. "She is a gentle mother, who knows her children learn best when allowed to learn themselves."

Right. Well, when she puts it that way, the Chantry sounds like a wonderful neglectful mother indeed. I think I agree with Merrill's argument the last time Sebastian tried to convince her of Andrastian superiority to other 'heathen religions.' Despite all the talk of how wonderful and essential those who do the work of the Chantry are, none of them actually seem to do anything at all, apart from give sermons, or ask for tithes, or stand about singing the Chant all day. I don't see how that is at all helpful to anyone. "But... surely you have some opinion on the matter?" I press insistently. I really ought not to push too hard, or my interest in this topic will start drawing unwelcome interest and speculation which I can ill afford, but I am tired of those in power and influence evading the matter. It will not go away simply because they ignore it, only grow bigger as the pressure builds and builds until eventually, one day, it will all come crashing down. Or possibly blow up. "I mean... hypothetically, if there were a group of people being brutally subjugated by another... wouldn't the Maker favour the oppressed?"

She sighs. "Hawke, for a thousand years the Chantry has had to find the balance between those born with magic, and those sworn to guard them. That hasn't changed here. Sometimes mages abuse their powers, and sometimes Templars become too... zealous in their methods of dealing with them. Both sides make good arguments, and both have flaws. No good can come of showing favour to one side."

But she is beloved amongst all citizens of the city, respected amongst the circle and revered amongst the Templars! A word from her in favour of compassion towards mages could ease so much unnecessary and misguided fear amongst the population, and prevent the subsequent mistreatment of those with magic in their blood. "For a thousand years, mages have been punished for the crime of being born with the gifts the Maker gave them," I counter, trying to keep the rising heat out of my voice. A good thing indeed that Anders did not come; if he were here listening to our increasingly ineffectual conversation, he would be hard put to contain himself. I hear a faint note of resentful anger mixed with mournful sadness in my voice as I ask the question that has gone unanswered since my childhood. "The Maker created mages. Why doesn't he protect them?"

Elthina watches me in silence for a moment. "You have truly taken a great interest in what many in the city call the plight of the mages, child," she says slowly, her voice shrewd, though tactfully quiet. "I cannot help but wonder at your motivations."

And now I've gone and overdone it. Time to back down, I think, before she begins wondering at my motivations too deeply. I think quickly. "I... have had dealings with mages in the Gallows. Most I have met are good people, who do not deserve the treatment they receive. I suppose I'm just wishing for some way to resolve the difficulties between them and the Templars," I tell her evasively. "I admit; I was hoping you might be able to assist in coming to some sort of swift compromise."

The Grand Cleric gives me an understanding look. "I am certain if one can be reached, we will find it, though such a thing cannot be forced," she replies gently. "The Maker's time is not men's time. We do not need to rush."

Isabela, standing unobtrusively a few paces behind me, chuckles a little at that. "I'll have to remember that line the next time I'm late," she says quietly to herself.

Her softly spoken comment draws Elthina's attention, and she peers behind me, trying to make out Isabela's features. "I believe I know you from somewhere..."

I bite back a grin, anticipating her grace's reaction when she remembers precisely when, where, and in what compromising position she has seen my irrepressible pirate friend before. Though, now that I think on it; she might not recognise Isabela after all. Not with her clothes on...

The Grand Cleric gasps suddenly. "I... it was _you,_ you're the one who... in my bedchamber..." She trails off in embarrassment as a deep blush burns two red spots in her cheeks.

Well. This interesting development may not go all the way to making up for what an awful day this had been, but I'll take it. It's an amusing start, in any event. "My friend has come to beg your forgiveness for her... transgressions, your grace," I say, giving Isabela a teasing wink and receiving an annoyed glare in return. "Isn't that right, my dear friend?"

"I'll 'dear friend' you," Isabela mutters beneath her breath, and then "Yes, uh, your grace. I'm really very sorry for what I did. I... beg your forgiveness. Sincerely."

Elthina surveys her in silence for a long moment, then nods once, her composure restored. "Very well, child. If you are truly genuine in your penitence, then Andraste will forgive you your sins." She raises her hand in blessing. "May the Maker bless and keep you. May His smile grace all the days of your life and His light guide you to His side. So let it be."

Isabela assumes an unconvincing expression of grateful repentance, eyes straying to the comely sister in the corner lighting candles before Andraste's shrine. "Yes," she replies distractedly. "So let it be."

Elthina coughs uncomfortably. "Well. Such excitement. I... think I need to lie down." She shoots Isabela a reproving stare. "I believe I can assume it is currently safe to do so, for the moment at least. If... if you'll excuse me, Hawke."

"Of course, your grace," I reply with a respectful nod, and she hurries away down the stairs to our left, just as Sebastian and Fenris appear at the top of the landing to our right.

Sebastian stares after Elthina as she hurries away, then lifts an eyebrow inquisitively as Isabela. "So... where exactly is it that her grace knows you from, to cause her such discomfort?"

Isabela gives him an arch look. "I have absolutely no idea to what you are referring."

"Eavesdropping is a hobby of yours then, I take it?" I ask, raising a brow at the aspiring Prince.

He laughs, eyes crinkling merrily. "It... comes in useful sometimes," he replies.

"We heard Elthina speaking as we came up here to seek you out," Fenris clarifies for me. "Though in truth we only heard a little of your actual discussion."

"I did catch the tail end, however," Sebastian notes, looking at me with a serious expression. "I understand your concerns regarding the mages and Templars. I confess; I do not understand myself why her grace will not intervene." He tilts his head thoughtfully. "Perhaps you ought to exert more influence over the city yourself, Hawke. You have a talent for leadership, and people seem to respect you, even look up to you. And I don't just mean the other nobles."

"I'm not exactly a noble," I contradict him quickly. Leader? Me? Maker's breath, that's just what I need. More attention and closer scrutiny. I'd be hauled off to the Gallows inside of a month. "Not really. My mother was the heir to the Amells, true, but my father wasn't a lord, or anything."

Sebastian shrugs. "Perhaps not, but you are of noble blood regardless. Your mother inherited the estate of the Amells, which the Viscount has recognised."

I scoff. "Due in no small part to the exorbitant sum I offered him to get it back."

"And you have... an aura of nobility about you," Sebastian continues, blithely ignoring my sarcasm. "True nobility, not an overweening belief in your own superiority. I'm surprised you never took the Amell name, in fact."

"Why?" I ask him bemusedly. I already have a name after all, not to mention it would be rather confusing for everyone. I'm not sure anyone even knows what my first name is, anymore. Sometimes I'm not even certain I remember myself.

"Because it's your birthright," Sebastian answers earnestly. "Once the viscount accepted you as your grandparents' heir, you could have been Lady Amell."

"My mother is Lady Amell," I correct him. "I'd rather teach the nobility to respect the name Hawke. I'm happy with who I am."

The heir to the throne of Starkhaven inclines his head. "You're right, then," he agrees wryly. "You wouldn't fit in among the nobility."

"That's fine by me." I smile crookedly. "Like I don't have enough people trying to kill me already?"

Sebastian laughs. "This isn't Antiva," he says, still chuckling in amusement. "Not all nobles are targets for assassination."

"How sheltered are you?" Isabela comments, somewhat sardonically. "Are you supposed to be proof of this theory?"

I see Fenris shake his head in disapproval as I sigh at her poorly thought out jest. Sebastian inhales sharply, looking slightly taken aback. "Point," he says after a moment.

"And on that note, I think it's time to get you home to Lowtown." I grasp Isabela's forearm, throwing Sebastian an apologetic look as I give her arm a pointed squeeze. "I think someone needs a drink."

Isabela looks suddenly remorseful, as though belatedly realising the cruel undertones of her offhand comment. "Sorry, Sebastian. I didn't mean anything by it."

He waves her off, smiling gently. "I know, it's alright. Don't worry; you are forgiven."

"Alright, alright," she smirks cheekily. "No need to go all Chantry-boy on me; I've been forgiven and blessed enough for one day. I am sorry, though."

"Apology accepted, my lady," Sebastian says, bowing to her. He nods farewell to us, and then takes his leave, departing to one of the quieter prayer rooms towards the back of the Chantry. I motion towards the doors with a toss of my head and we make our way back into the fresh air and welcome light of Hightown.

"Ah, that's better," Isabela sighs in relief as she steps into the sunshine. "Though, now I need something to take my mind off the fact that I just voluntarily ventured into the Chantry without the intention of impurity and debauchery." She turns to me, wearing the sort of cheeky grin that always appears on her face right before she says something highly discomforting. Brilliant. "So, tell me, Hawke," she begins conversationally. I glance at her warily, and her smile widens. "How well does Merrill... perform?"

Fenris coughs loudly behind us as I give Isabela an incredulous stare. "Pardon?"

"I just want to know how well she's taken all of our little discussions to heart," Isabela explains patiently. She arches a well-sculpted brow. "Well? What's she like?"

I can't believe we're discussing this, though honestly, I'm not really certain why I'm so surprised. I'd best answer her, or she'll only keep asking me in increasingly inappropriate situations. Like in front of Mother, for instance. Isabela really does like to test our friendship, doesn't she? "Sweet. Tender. Loving," I answer, and then smile at her slowly. Might as well give her something she'll enjoy hearing. Merrill won't mind, I'm sure. I'm fairly certain Isabela has already asked her much the same question about me. "Insatiable."

Isabela's eyes widen in astonishment. "Really? My kitten, insatiable?" she chuckles delightedly as we make our way down the stairs. "How _glorious_..." She gives her head a mournful shake. "And me once again without quill and parchment. I should have stolen some of Varric's when I had the chance."

Oh, no. No. Not this again. A story about me inexplicably fighting a high dragon wearing nothing but my skin, I could tolerate, as long as I never had to read it, or lay eyes on the front cover, Maker forbid. But if something of such an intimate nature about my relationship with Merrill ever finds its way into circulation amongst the general public... well, let's just say I will be somewhat less than pleased. "Isabela," I begin warningly. "If I find anything about Merrill and me in any of your serials, or Varric's for that matter-"

"Yes, yes, awful consequences, your anger will be terrible to behold, et cetera," Isabela cuts me off, rolling her eyes a little. "I suppose I'd better not let you find _those_ particular serials, then."

My eyes narrow dangerously. "What?"

"Nothing," Isabela says, clearly trying to suppress giggles. "You have pretty eyes." I sigh quietly. Oh, for the love of the Maker...

I suddenly hear some odd scuffling sounds coming from the darkened stairwell leading to Darktown, and frown. The sounds are innocuous enough and likely beneath my notice, but something just... doesn't feel right. I hold up my hand to halt my companions as we pass, stopping to listen as I hear someone speak;

"Pull his tail!"

"No, I'm going to poke him!"

A loud yelp issues from the shadows, followed by childish giggling.

"Stupid dog..."

I stride quickly over, Isabela and Fenris following after me. Two young children in fine noble clothing are crouched in the shadows at the edge of the stairwell, laughing as they torment the small, white dog huddled between them. The poor little thing gives a pained whimper as one of them pokes it sharply with the stick in his pudgy hand. Maker's breath, what's going on? Bile rises in my throat at this display of needless, childish cruelty. Little wretches. A life of privilege, and still they can find nothing better to do than torment a helpless animal?

"Hey!" I say sharply as I reach them. "Get away from that dog!"

The children jump and stare at me, though they don't move away from the quivering ball of fur between them. "I know who _you _are," the elder child informs me, looking at me over her shoulder with a haughty expression. "You're the Hawke lady. You live next door."

I recognise the children now; offspring of the Ahrenbergs, some of my least favourite neighbours. Which, given the overall pretentious and pompous quality of Hightown residents, is truly saying something. I survey the girl with poorly concealed disdain; she'll be trouble when she's older, that's for certain."Yes, and I know who you are," I tell her, trying to force my voice to sound calm and authoritative rather than simply disgusted. "Leave that animal alone, or I will have to tell your mother."

The youngest of the pair drops the stick he's holding and steps away from the small dog immediately, but his sister straightens slowly, glaring at me with a pronounced curl to her lip. "My mama says you dirty the streets of Hightown because you're a filthy elf-lover," she says dismissively. I stare at her, utterly floored by her words. An ugly sneer appears on the child's small features. "We don't have to listen to you!"

Fenris growls menacingly, giving them a murderous stare. "You will obey, if you know what's good for you! Leave! Now!"

The children gasp, wide eyed with fright, and then they flee; sprinting full pelt through the archway into the courtyard below the Keep. Running home to tell their parents, no doubt. I doubt that will be the last I will hear of this, sadly, but it had to be done. And I can't seem to muster a shred of remorse for allowing Fenris to scare those vicious little monsters. I may even get him a present.

The little dog uncurls itself from its protective huddle and blinks at us cautiously for a moment. Then it gives a tiny yapping bark of what I choose to assume is thanks, and trots over to us, standing on its hind legs to place its little paws against Fenris' leg. He stares down at it in bemusement, and it wags its little tail as it looks up at him, then begins to furiously lick his shin; the highest part of him it can reach.

"Aw, look," Isabela giggles. "Fenris... you just saved a puppy."

He grimaces a little, bending down and picking up the little dog to stop it licking him. "Temporary insanity," he comments dryly, holding it inelegantly at arm's length as it gazes at him adoringly. "I assure you, it will not happen again."

I grin happily, the sight of the cross lanky elf holding the fluffy white pup awkwardly in his arms reminding me strongly of when he carried Feathers home for me. "But you're clearly so good with animals. Past evidence speaks for itself. You may even be able to turn your talents into a career. Dog trainer, dragon tamer..."

"I simply cannot express the full measure of my delight at your excellent suggestions," Fenris drawls wryly. "I shall ponder your advice long and hard into the night."

I chuckle softly as I lean in closer to Fenris to check the animal's collar, finding a small tag with the name 'Taffy' on one side, and the address of an old Kirkwall family in the noble district on the other. I look at the dog, raising an eyebrow. "Taffy, is it?" The little fellow barks once upon hearing his name, looking up at me with bright eyes. Well, he's no fearsome mabari hound, but he's certainly adorable enough to make up for it. "Apparently it belongs to the Prideaux family. I believe they live in the house directly across the square from you, actually, Fenris."

"I suppose I can return it to its owner, then," Fenris says somewhat distastefully, glancing down at the animal in his arms, whose little curly tail begins wagging again upon receiving his attention. "Since I will be heading that way."

"You ought to find somewhere nicer than that dank old mansion," Isabela says as we head towards the stairs to the noble estates. "Like Lowtown, at the Hanged Man, or something. There's a free suite a few doors down from mine, I think."

"I am comfortable with where I am," Fenris says distractedly, leaning his head back awkwardly so that his face is safely out of the reach of his fluffy admirer's tongue.

"Suit yourself." Isabela shrugs nonchalantly. "Though why you want to squat up here in Hightown is beyond me."

"I like the view," Fenris replies simply.

Isabela looks him up and down. "So do I."

He raises a non-committal eyebrow and heads towards the estates with the little dog in his arms, Isabela following along hurriedly behind him as she tries to match his long strides. "We'll see you later, Hawke!" she calls over her shoulder with a wave.

"Is it really necessary for you to accompany me?" I hear Fenris say dryly as Isabela flings an arm casually across his shoulders.

"Seeing you returning a lost puppy?" Isabela's wicked laugh rings across the courtyard as they reach the stairwell to the noble estates. "There's no way I'm missing this! Not to mention I am in desperate need of a drink. Some of that Agrisio Parvanii you've been drinking your way through for the past three years will do nicely. If you've got any left."

I smile as I walk into the Keep courtyard and head towards my mansion, my pace quickening eagerly as I draws nearer to home, and Merrill. Maker's breath, but I missed having her at my side, though in all honesty I'm glad she didn't have to witness everything that happened with Alrik today, or hear about what poor Alain has suffered in the circle. It will be bad enough telling her about it when she asks about my day, though I don't intend to dwell on it long, of course. There are much more... pleasant pursuits I have in mind for this afternoon. I wonder how Merrill has gotten on with just my old dog to help her watch over that troublesome little griffon.

I hope he hasn't given her too much trouble...

* * *

><p>Xxx M xxx<p>

* * *

><p>"Feathers, no!"<p>

The stubborn little griffon pulls again at the corner of the book I was reading - or was _trying_ to read - while sitting in the window of the upstairs reading room, waiting for Hawke to come home. Feathers gives a petulant caw, the sound muffled a little bit by the paper in his tightly clamped beak as he tugs even harder, demanding my attention. I give him my very best cross look.

"Stop that!" I tell him firmly. "This book belongs to Hawke's mother, and they'll both be terribly upset with you if you hurt it!"

He lets go of the book corner and mews piteously, resting his head on my knee in apology. I give up on the book and take him in my arms, stroking his soft furry back. Mythal, I hope anyone happening to look up and see me sitting here in the window holding a baby griffon will just think he is just a cat, or an oddly shaped pillow, or something. It could lead to rather a lot of awkward questions, otherwise; though if they do look, they probably won't be able to make out anything but a small white blur. At least, I hope they won't. Unless they have particularly sharp sight, we should be fine, and really, even if they did spot him, I doubt they would instantly leap to the conclusion that it was a real live griffon they were seeing. That would mean they'd have to start believing that griffons exist again, let alone that one has taken up residence in Hightown, and well... I think we're probably safe enough. Much more likely that they would decide they'd had one too many goblets of Antivan wine with their midday meal. That sounds like something most of them would do, anyway, from Hawke's ever-so-slightly scornful descriptions of her noble neighbours.

I cuddle Feathers close, listening to his contented purr as I look down through the window, keeping my eyes on the courtyard below while I watch for Hawke. It's well past midday now; the sun will be setting soon. I am starting to get a little worried, though I know she wasn't sure how long whatever Anders wanted would take when she left this morning. Still, I hardly expected it would take all day. Mythal, I miss her. And to think I used to go for days at a time without seeing her at all; I don't know how I ever managed it without going mad! I hope what she's been doing wasn't anything too dangerous, but... knowing Anders, well... it could be anything. And... and he did say, before; when we met him in Darktown and he hinted that he might need her assistance... he did say that the thing he needed help with was dangerous, after all. What if... what if something happened, and I wasn't there? What if he wanted her to... I don't know, attack the Templars, or-or start a mage rebellion or something, and she got hurt, or Mythal forbid, captured? What if she's been taken to the Gallows? What if-

_No, no, stop it! Come on now, Merrill, enough of that. Not a good mindset. Think positive. Hawke is quite capable of looking after herself without your help, after all. Or anyone else's help for that matter. She's fine. I'm sure she's fine..._

Feathers gives a worried little chirp, blinking up at me. Likely sensing my growing anxiety, I suppose, reacting instinctively to my mood much like Hawke's mabari does when she's feeling some particularly strong emotion. "She'll be alright, Feathers," I say, though I know I'm trying to reassure myself more than him. "I'm sure she'll be along any moment now." My speech is fast and anxious, despite my attempts to calm myself. Even more than normal, I mean. "Yes. Nothing to fret over. She'll be fine, I know she will..."

A small, feathered head presses into my chest, and a sweet, purring melody fills the air as Feathers gently croons a soothing little song. I feel my nervousness abate a bit and smile, stroking his little ears gratefully. I do love his strange little ability, though I'm not certain he truly knows much of what he is doing. Much like me half the time, really. I wish I had a better understanding of griffons; then I might be able to figure out how to train him...

A very familiar-looking woman strides through the Chantry courtyard archway across the other side of the square, and I sit up attentively, trying to make her out. Short black hair, black boots, red tunic, a graceful, purposeful walk... It_ could_ be Hawke, but then, I've already fooled myself six times now, thinking I saw her; I don't want to get my hopes up again, and I can't see her face...

The woman glances up as she draws nearer, looking straight through the window at me as though she sensed me watching her, and I giggle joyfully, giving her a happy wave as I see her beautiful features clearly, smiling cheekily up at me. It _is_ Hawke, she's home! Oh, Creators, it's about time! I set Feathers gently down on the floor beside Hawke's loyal dog, who is lying in a guarding position by the door. He hasn't let me out of his sight all day; I think Hawke must have told him to watch me. Or Feathers. Or both of us. "Now you behave, you little troublemaker," I tell Feathers warningly. "I'll be back shortly, but I don't want to come back in here and find that half the books have been eaten." Feathers yawns, and I sigh, looking at the mabari. "Will you mind him for me, please? I won't be long, and I'll be bringing your mistress with me, I promise."

He gives me a happy, determined bark in reply, fixing Feathers with a commanding stare as my silly little griffon chick gazes back at him with wide eyes. He gives a questioning, very innocent sort of chirp.

"You're not fooling anyone, you know" I tell him fondly, nodding pointedly at the watchful mabari. "He's got his eyes on you, so behave."

I close the door behind me and then rush down the stairs, not willing to waste another moment. The front door swings open and hits the wall with a loud bang as I burst through it, but I don't care. Hawke is home! I spot her just as she walks past the decorative stand of trees in the middle of the square and run to her, throwing myself happily into her waiting arms.

"Oh, ma vhenan, you've been gone so long!" I cry softly, burying my face in her throat. "I'm so happy to see you!"

She gives a low, contented laugh, holding me close. "Me too. I'm sorry I've been so long." She gives a little sigh. "It's been... quite a day."

"A bad day?" I ask in concern, pulling back to examine her, frowning a little as I see faint shadows of exhaustion beginning to show beneath her wonderful eyes.

Hawke nods tiredly. "It certainly wasn't pleasant."

Whatever Anders wanted her help with must have been something quite awful then. I tighten my hold on her reassuringly. "Well, don't worry, Hawke. I'll soon have you feeling better."

She presses her palm gently to my cheek, smiling into my eyes. "I already do," she says quietly, slipping an arm about my waist and drawing me against her as she leans in for a slow, sweet kiss. I curl my arms around her neck as our lips meet, melting into her, marvelling at the way we fit together so perfectly, as though made for one another.

Hawke draws away reluctantly at last, smiling down at me as she twines her fingers with mine. "Let's go home."

I nod, and we walk slowly back towards the house, passing a group of nobles standing by the stairs to the Keep. They seem to be staring at us with expressions ranging from mild displeasure to outright anger and disgust, whispering to each other as we draw near. I glance up at Hawke, intending to ask her what could be upsetting them so... but then, I don't have to. The look on her face as she glares at them with furious defiance is answer enough; they're talking about us. About Hawke, being with me.

_Oh..._

A surge of unease rises in the pit of my stomach as I look at their stony, disapproving faces, but I push it down firmly. Whatever their opinions of me and Hawke, it isn't worth troubling over. Not in the least. I tug gently on Hawke's hand to call her attention away from them, and smile reassuringly when she looks at me. "It's alright, ma vhenan," I tell her softly. There isn't anything they can do to change how much I care about Hawke, or what she feels for me. That's all that matters. "It doesn't matter what they think, or say. Don't let them worry you; I'm not going to."

She envelops me in a loving smile as we reach the door to her mansion at last. "You're absolutely right, love," she says, and presses a tender kiss to my brow as we go inside, her miserable neighbours and their foolish opinions already behind us, and forgotten.

"So what did Anders need?" I ask, closing the door behind me and bolting it securely. I'd rather no chance of trouble or visitors today, not now that I've got Hawke home at last. "Why were you gone so long?"

"Short answer?" Hawke says, smiling wryly. "He wanted me to help him break into the Gallows dungeon, and well, it was all downhill from there, frankly."

_Mythal!_ _Did I hear that right? _I stare at her in shocked disbelief. No wonder Anders said it was dangerous; for an apostate to break into any part of the Gallows is about as safe and sensible as casually sauntering into a dragon's den and jabbing it in the eye with a stick. It isn't at all likely to end well. "You... you broke into the Gallows?"

She sighs quietly. "Yes. But it didn't go quite as any of us expected. Let's sit down somewhere, and I'll tell you all about it."

"Alright, ma vhenan," I agree gently, biting back my torrent of anxious questions. Of course she needs to rest a bit, she's been on her feet all day, no doubt. We should really go and check on Feathers, anyway, before he gets himself into trouble. "I was just in the library with Feathers." She raises an eyebrow, and I smile reassuringly. "Don't worry; I left your sweet old dog to watch him. But you know we can't leave him for long. Why don't we go there, unless you're too tired to climb the stairs?"

Hawke gives a soft chuckle. "Hmm. I_ think_ I'll manage," she smiles cheekily, wrapping her arm about my shoulders and drawing me close against her body. "Though, I may have to lean on you a little. Just in case."

Feathers and his mabari guardian gambol excitedly about our feet as we enter the room, respectively barking and chirping their excitement. Hawke smiles as she leans down to pet each of them on the head, and then collapses into the nearest armchair, fondling her silly dog's ears affectionately as he thrusts his heavy head into her lap. I take the chair next to her, settling myself comfortably as Feathers jumps onto my knees and snuggles up to me contentedly, purring softly as I look at Hawke. "Now, what was it that Anders needed to break into the Gallows for, of all places?"

Hawke leans her head back against the comfortable back of her chair, sighing softly. "Where should I begin?" she asks herself quietly. She thinks for a moment in silence, then draws herself up as she turns to me, ready to explain. "Anders wanted help seeking proof of a plot amongst the Templars to put all mages through the Rite of Tranquillity..."

I watch her with wide eyes as she explains everything that happened; Anders telling her about the awful Templar's horrible plan; finding those Templars tormenting the young mage in the Gallows dungeons, and Alrik attacking them; Anders losing control of Justice and very nearly killing them all, everything. I feel a jolt of anger and distress when she shows me the rip in her sleeve and the angry red scar scoring her flesh where the Templar slashed her arm. At least she's all healed up now, though I have a feeling she is glossing over some other rather more unpleasant details about the encounter that she doesn't really want to tell me. I won't press her about it for now, since she seems to be alright, and all. That scar on her arm tells me it was quite a savage cut, though. I know it will fade in time, and there probably wouldn't have been anything I could do to prevent it if I had been there, but... that doesn't make me feel any better about Hawke being hurt. And I feel very badly for Anders, losing control like that. I can't imagine how he would have felt if he hadn't been able to stop Justice from killing that mage girl, or attacking Hawke. He must still be feeling absolutely dreadful about it, though. Poor man.

"So what happened when you went to the Gallows?" I ask once she tells me about calming Anders down, and of what he asked her to do in his place. "The second time, I mean."

"I spoke with Knight-Captain Cullen, telling him I'd heard rumours about Alrik's Solution," she replies, a sober frown creeping over her face. "I'm afraid I found him to be... disturbingly in favour of wider application of the Rite." She shifts a little in her chair, looking at me with a slightly troubled expression. "I also saw Alain, the boy we met a few years ago during that trouble with the... Starkhaven mages."

"The blood mages, you mean? The ones whose leader tried to kill us?" I ask, and she nods.

"Yes. And... you remember the woman, Grace? She was with him," she says, her frown deepening sadly. "It seems Meredith didn't stop hunting the rest of the group until they were all recaptured, which Grace now blames me for."

What? "How can she blame you for that?" I ask in bewilderment. "What did she say?"

"Something about leaving them with 'no food, no water, and only a moment's head start'," Hawke sighs. "She even thinks I told the Templars about them after all, since they didn't stop looking for them all this time."

How can she truly feel that way, after everything we tried to do for her and her people, even after half of them tried to kill us? "But you helped them!" I cry indignantly. "You risked yourself to lie to that Ser Karras!" Hawke's face darkens a little at the reminder. "If you'd told them about the mages, you would have had to admit to helping them and then they'd have locked you up too, how can she _believe_ that?"

Hawke shrugs. "It's understandable that she wants someone to blame," she says, sounding a lot more calm than I do about it. But then, she is blamed unfairly for things quite a bit. I suppose she's gotten used to it, but I still don't like it when it happens to her. Not my Hawke.

I shake my head, still smouldering about it. "Well, I don't see why she can't just blame the Templars, then."

"I'm sure she does. I just don't think that's enough for her," Hawke says, her voice a little sad. She looks at me, and her eyes shine with warmth and love. "Never mind it now, emma sa'lath," she says. "It doesn't matter."

I smile at her, the loving endearment pushing all else from my mind, as usual. Probably just as she intended, I suppose. She knows me too well. "What else did you do, then?" I ask, deciding to take her suggestion and let it go for now. "Did you go to the Chantry next?"

"Apart from a brief visit to Solivitus," she replies, nodding. "Since I was there and all. That was about it for the Gallows, and it was off to the Chantry straight after that, to see what Elthina had to say."

I glance at her tunic, and raise an eyebrow as I look back up at her pointedly. "You went to see the Grand Cleric like this? All covered in Templar blood?"

Hawke blinks. "Hm," she says in surprised realisation. "I suppose I did. I didn't really think about it that much after it dried." She glances down at herself, shrugging indifferently. "It doesn't really show, though. And I cleaned my face first, of course."

I sigh, shaking my head at her fondly. "Oh, ma vhenan."

"What?" she asks innocently, raising an eyebrow at me. "Don't tell me you're upset with me."

"No, of course not!" I reply quickly. What a silly thing to get upset over. "It's just a very Hawke sort of thing to do. It's good these clothes are red, though, otherwise it might have looked a bit suspicious, talking to the Grand Cleric about the plans of a murdered Templar, wearing clothes that were obviously all over blood. As it is, it just sort of looks like a bit of an interesting pattern. Crimson, with a darker red pattern of... sort of splotchy-looking... things."

"Well, when you put it that way, it certainly does sound quite interesting indeed," Hawke laughs. "Perhaps I can start a new fashion."

"So then, what did the Grand Cleric have to say about Ser Alrik's plan?" I ask her. It doesn't seem likely that she would know about it, but she might at least want to do something about it once she heard. Otherwise, what is the Chantry for, if they're all supposed to be so good?

"She didn't seem too concerned by it," Hawke answers, a clear note of resigned disappointment in her voice. "She would rather believe that it is simply something the Templars say when they've had a hard day oppressing mages, rather than something they would actually put into practice. Apparently it is not her place to prevent maltreatment in any case, in case that compromises her status as a neutral party." She sighs. "But that's all over with now, at any rate. For today, at least."

I reach out and place my hand gently on her arm. "Well, then, don't think about it anymore, Hawke. You're home now, you can relax. In fact, I insist that you do."

Hawke smiles, eyes dancing merrily. "Ma nuvenin, my love," she says, her voice filled with love and affection. "If you're sure there's nothing else that requires my immediate and undivided attention."

I think for a moment, and then shake my head no. "I don't think so," I tell her, and then pause, remembering. "Some letters came for you earlier, of course, but they were only sent by a regular courier, so I don't think they're that important. There's also a large package addressed to both of us."

"Who is it from?" Hawke asks, a look of curiosity mixed with caution on her face.

"I don't know, it doesn't say." I reach out to her dog, still with his big head resting in her lap, and ruffle his ears affectionately, earning myself a few licks in return. "This fellow sniffed it a bit, but he didn't seem to think there was anything to worry about inside, so I left it beside the writing desk, where I put your other messages. I'm sure it can wait though, whatever it is."

"Alright then," Hawke agrees. She moves her dog's head gently out of her lap and stands, groaning a little as she stretches her tired body. "Though, I suppose I ought to read the letters, at least..."

I hear the reluctance in her tone, and put Feathers gently down on the floor under the mabari's watchful gaze as I rise from my chair, fixing Hawke with a firm, no-nonsense sort of look I learned from watching Marethari, though I know it isn't half as effective as hers. She's had longer to practice, after all. Much, much longer. It seems to work well enough on Hawke, though. Most of the time, anyway. "It can wait until tomorrow, ma vhenan," I inform her seriously. "You've had a long day; you need to rest and not worry about what anyone else wants from you for a while. Besides, it's a bit too late in the day to go adventuring. The sun will set soon; there'll be nothing you can do if anyone wants help now. And if the letters aren't urgent after all, then there's no harm in waiting a few hours to read them, is there?"

"I suppose not," Hawke says, smiling at me adoringly. "Oh, but I missed you today, my little voice of reason."

I smile back. "I'd better not be your only voice of reason; else we're both going to get into trouble quite a bit." She laughs, and my heart lifts at the sound. Creators, I love making her laugh; it just makes the world seem so much brighter. I step forward and hug her about the middle, cuddling into her and sighing happily as she wraps her arms tight about me. "And I missed you too, emma lath. I want you all to myself for the rest of the night."

I feel her kiss the crown of my head. "I'm all yours," she whispers, leaning back a little to look at me. "Did you have anything in particular in mind?"

"I thought... I could draw you a bath, maybe?" I ask, feeling my heart melt as I glance up into her beautiful, loving gaze. "With... with oils, and scents, and candles? Does that sound nice?"

Hawke strokes the hair back from my brow and then cups my cheek in that tender gesture of devotion that makes me feel so, _so_ loved. "That sounds perfect," she says quietly, her lovely voice filled with warmth. "As long as you'll be sharing it with me."

I giggle softly. "Of course, ma vhenan," I say in mock-reproof. "That goes without saying."

"Wonderful," Hawke replies. She smiles slowly, wickedly, dropping her gaze to my simple rough-spun tunic and soft cotton trews. Without further ado, she sweeps me into her arms, holding me close. I laugh in delight, clasping my arms about her neck and clinging tight in breathless anticipation as she carries me down the hallway.

"Let's get out of these clothes, then," she suggests as we enter our bedroom; her voice a silky whisper in my ear. I shiver wonderfully at the sound. "I don't know why we bother with them, really. Such a_ terrible_ inconvenience..."

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><p><em>Yes, I know, not the best chapter. Like I said; multiple distractions. I should have more time to write soon, I hope, and there'll be more of Merrill in the next installment. Thanks for reading, leave a review if you want to (but please be kind, I bruise easily!) See you in a little while as soon as I finish a better chapter, and thanks for sticking with me.<em>

_maximasdecimas_


	20. Chapter 20

**Author Note:**

_Okay. Since apparently I am now in danger of my life if I don't post another chapter, here you go. Put your knives away. And to my most recent guest 'reviewer' (at least at the time I am posting this), unless you're making a sex joke (which I'm kind of hoping is the case but I don't think you are, somehow), yes of course I know that reference about the sweet spot. "Left of the spine, fourth lumbar down, the abdominal aorta... what a gusher." I do secretly enjoy the Riddick movies myself (especially the Chronicles of Riddick because Alexa Davalos is extremely attractive. Lithe and feisty. Like a sexy cat. No, wait, that was bad. I shouldn't use cats in similies as an example of things that are sexy. To clarify; I do not find cats in any way sexy or attractive. But Alexa Davalos, yes. She's sexy to the max). However, I'm not particularly eager to act out a Riddick movie in real life, especially not getting stabbed in the sweet spot, so I'm going to politely request that you refrain from sticking sharp pointy objects anywhere near my abdominal aorta. Incidentally, the same goes for my inferior vena cava. Or... well, any part of my anatomy, actually. It's not nice to stab people. Or shank people. Or shiv people. No shanking with shivs, or shivving with shanks, or stabbing of any kind, please. Yes yes yes, I know this is still another late post, but I've had relatively little free time of late up until very recently, combined with personal circumstances preventing me from feeling up to writing for a while (although there's no cause to go into that. Personal!). It may not be particularly great as chapters go, and admittedly its a little rushed in places (due to sabresmittenophobia), but it is a little bigger than the last one, so that at least should impart a sense of value if nothing else. I probably could have split it, but I didn't really want to for various reasons, so meh. Consider it two chapters in one and don't complain about the length, you can read it at your own leisure after all. Also, my wordcount in Word puts this at a good 2000 words less than what Fanfiction says it is, which I find strange. Still I hope you enjoy it, and that no one stabs me. For those who haven't yet threatened to kill me via reviews or private messages, thanks for sticking with me. And for those who are guilty, it's okay, I'm sure most of you were joking (fingers crossed) and I didn't really post this chapter just because of the thinly veiled stabbing threats (at least not totally), but because I wanted to do something nice for a friend going through a bad time __and finishing this was pretty much all I could think of to do. There's no need to address or refer to this in reviews or anything, and of course f_or the sake of respect and privacy I will not in any way identify them_ __(you know who you are, honey__, hopefully it might provide a diversion for a while if nothing else, if you feel like reading it sometime of course.__ Under different circumstances I'd have asked you to beta this for me, but it would have been insensitive and inappropriate to ask now. Just wanted to offer my care and support in some small way. My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family__). But let's just move on. Ignore that. Really I'm only mentioning it now because for one thing; I don't think very many people actually read what I write here in my author notes because of their rambling and oftentimes fairly incoherent and frankly irrelevant content, which is fair enough; and for another (and far more importantly), I don't want to encourage anyone to think that threatening bodily harm will motivate me into writing quicker. It won't work, not really! I'll just get fearful and edgy and probably twitchy as well, and who needs that? Not me._

_Side note, I was looking at the traffic stats and I figured out that if I got a dollar for every time someone viewed one of my stories, I'd be making an average of $5000 a month! Pretty nice pocket money. Not that I'm about to start charging for viewing chapters or anything, no, of... course not... I'm pretty sure I could get sued for that. Although if I get any more death threats, I might just retaliate by deciding it would be worth the risk... hmm... _

_Just kidding, I won't, I promise. Wouldn't know how, anyways. My point is; this is free entertainment which I write from a place of love, so you know. Don't stab me, okay? But if you really feel you must, then all I ask is this. Before you drive the blade home, please quote the following somewhat obscure Dragon Age Origins reference;_

_"Mwahaha! I am Princess Stabbity! Stab kill kill!"_

_I would appreciate it. It would really take the edge off being brutally murdered. Thank you._

_Oh, and by the way, you'd best be prepared for a fight, because I don't go down easy. _

_That was not intended as a sex joke either for the record :p_

_Anyway. Merry Christmas, and all the best for the new year. Hopefully it will be a good one, although I myself am not going to get my hopes up too far just yet; I'm not particularly superstitious, and even though for the most part I tend to agree with the lovely and seriously smexy forensic anthropologist known affectionately as Bones (Emily Deschanel is beautiful! Dear god, those eyes! They penetrate my soul...) that believing in the existence of luck of any kind, good or bad, is nothing more than a solipsistic perceptual response to the random nature of the universe; nonetheless I am afraid that I just do not trust the number 13. Never have, never will. Still, I shall endeavour to think positive thoughts._

_So on that note, happy 2013 everyone! May it be filled with good fortune and free of misinterpreted predictions of cataclysms and apocalypses from mesoamerican civilisations that were unable to forsee their own demise._

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><p>xxx M xxx<p>

* * *

><p>Joyous trills and chirping melodies of little songbirds greeting the new day call to me from the waking world as I walk the Beyond with Hawke, the sweet sounds drawing me out of our shared dream just as the sun rises. Shafts of gentle sunlight glint through the curtains, falling across the bed and I yawn softly, stretching a little. Carefully, though. I am very mindful of Hawke still sleeping against my side, her arm draped across my bare stomach, warm against my skin. I stroke her arm gently with my fingertips as I slowly blink awake. Mythal, is it really morning already? It doesn't seem as though we slept for very long... although really, I don't know that it should have, now that I think about it. It is quite difficult to know how much time has truly passed in the Fade, after all. And I was quite distracted as it was, wandering through the dream Ferelden countryside with Hawke, passing towns and lakes, mountains and waterfalls, the Beyond shaping itself from our memories. It's so wonderful when that happens; it lets me see the places Hawke has visited, the towns and villages she lived in, the woods and fields where she played as a child... it just makes me feel so much closer to her, seeing a part of her life that I never would have known otherwise. And the look of wonder on her face whenever the Fade shows her the sunlit glades of endless trees and lush green vales of the Brecilian forest never ceases to amaze me. Sometimes the echoes of the mortal realm in the Beyond are so real it is as though we are really there, wandering through the settlements filled with dreaming souls and walking together down dappled forest paths... Really, it's no wonder we didn't get quite enough rest as we ought to have, I suppose. We kept ourselves very busy last night, after all. And not just in our dreams... Mmm...Creators... it was a<em> very<em> good night...

I blink the sleepiness out of my eyes and turn my head to gaze at my beautiful Hawke, still fast asleep with her head pillowed on my shoulder. A blissful smile curves my lips and I press them softly to her forehead, still caressing her arm softly as I wait for her to wake. It won't be long now, I'm sure; we always seem to fall asleep and wake within a few heartbeats of one another.

Sure enough, only a few moments pass before she starts to stir, blue eyes fluttering slowly open. She smiles at me gently. "Mmm..." she murmurs, her voice sounding wonderfully drowsy. "Good morning..."

"Just like every morning, ma vhenan," I reply happily. "Waking up with you beside me."

"Mmm..." Hawke chuckles quietly, turning her head to kiss the hollow of my shoulder. "You precious thing." She glances up and out of the window, eyes lidded a little against the soft light of the dawn as she gives a quiet groan of complaint. "Oh... it's _early_..."

"It is," I agree, feeling a rush of strong affection at her adorable morning sleepiness. "We could get up if you like, though; I'm sure our fearsome hound and griffon chick wouldn't mind an early breakfast."

Her eyes catch mine as she rests her head against my shoulder again, a cheeky sparkle in their azure depths. "I'm sure they wouldn't, at that." Her arm tightens about my middle. "But I don't think I feel like getting up just yet..."

I sweep my hand through her lovely hair, combing my fingers through the silky strands and bringing a low purr of contentment from deep in her throat as she closes her eyes. "Then go back to sleep for a bit, ma vhenan."

She blinks at me. "Back to sleep?" she asks, frowning a little.

"It's alright if you need more rest," I reassure her, a fond smile crossing my face as I remember. "You earned it after last night, after all."

Hawke shakes her head, a small smile crossing her face. "Be that as it may..." she murmurs, raising an eyebrow at me wickedly, "I don't feel like getting up, certainly, but I never said I wanted _sleep_..."

But then, what does she- Oh! Of course. I smile at her cheekily, very much liking where our conversation is going. At least I realised what she meant this time before I asked her and made myself sound like an unworldly child again. As usual. I am getting better about that, though, it isn't happening quite so often. Although it is fun to tease her a little, sometimes. Gently, of course, but still... "What is it that you want, then?" I ask quietly, letting a small note of suggestiveness creep into my voice so she knows I'm not just being an oblivious fool.

"You're playing with me, aren't you?" Hawke accuses, gentle laughter in her tone. "You know precisely what I want. I know you do." I nod slowly, saying silent. I know what she means, of course, by now at least I ought to, but I want to hear her say it. From the way she is smiling at me, she is reading my thoughts as always. She raises herself up on one arm and presses into me, making every inch of my skin tingle where her body touches mine. "I want _you_," she says at last, giving in to me, feathering kisses slowly over my shoulder, along my throat and across my cheek. She pauses just before our lips meet, smiling as she gazes into my eyes. "You wonderful, teasing, tempting little minx..." I giggle like a fool and wrap my arms about her as she kisses me deeply...

All of a sudden a loud trilling note fills the air and the bolt on the bedroom door slides back with a soft click. _Mythal, what-?!_ Hawke's head whips towards the doorway and she springs instantly out of bed, and I sit up in alarm, grabbing for the sheets as the heavy wooden door is slowly pushed open a few inches with a long, low creak... and in prances Feathers, looking very pleased with himself. He sees me on the bed and cheeps happily, bounding to the bedside and leaping up beside me, little wings fluttering instinctively behind him.

Hawke, already halfway across the room and reaching for her staff, gives a relieved but very exasperated sigh at the sight of him. "Oh, Andraste's blood, Feathers..." she groans quietly, a touch of fondness in her voice."Well, I suppose I'm up now, then, aren't I?"

Feathers chirps in cheerful agreement.

"Feathers..." I admonish him softly as he plants his little paws on my shoulders, giving my nose a gentle peck in greeting. "It isn't breakfast time yet." I glance back over to the slightly open door. "And how in the name of the Creators did you do that?"

Feathers blinks, takes a deep breath, sneezes, and then curls up in my lap. I can't help but smile in a resigned sort of amusement.

"He's taught himself another little trick, apparently," Hawke mutters wryly as she walks back over, ivory skin gleaming in the rays of the newborn sun. I try very hard to keep my attention focused on her words instead of... anything else. Her eyebrow arches delicately as she puts out a hand to ruffle my griffon chick's fuzzy ears. "Magical lockpicking. Well, that's just wonderful." She bites back a doting smile as Feathers rubs his head against her fingers, purring loudly. "Oh, stop it, you incorrigible little creature," she says in mild exasperation. "You know this is completely unacceptable, don't you?" Feathers makes a questioning noise, looking up at Hawke with wide eyes. She gazes back at him levelly. "We need to sleep - among other things - and you can't just come barging in whenever you please. After we put you to bed, you stay put with the dog until one of us comes to get you, alright?" He gives her a sorrowful look. Hawke shakes her head. "I mean it," she says firmly.

Feathers looks at me next, chirping softly, and I smile as I shake my head at him affectionately. "Oh, no, little fellow. I'm with Hawke about this, I'm afraid. You listen to her." He purrs in satisfaction as I scratch him under the chin. I'm not sure he was paying attention at all, really.

The door creaks again, widening further as Hawke's somewhat frantic-looking mabari pokes his head through the gap. He peers about the room, nose snuffling wetly, and a low chuckle sounds in Hawke's throat.

"Lost something, have you?"

Her poor old dog looks her way and whines, ears lowered. She plucks Feathers from my lap and holds him up, ignoring his squall of protest. "Looking for this, by any chance?"

The mabari barks sharply and shoulders his way into the room, fixing Feathers in a fierce reproving glare. Hawke puts the little griffon gently on the floor and he trots over to his canine companion, twining sinuously between the mabari's front legs as he purrs in what sounds like a hopeful manner. His efforts are met with a low, cross growl and he sits forlornly at his guardian's feet, giving a soft, sad little cry. The mabari gives a canine sigh and nuzzles his little charge for a moment to cheer him up, then glances up at Hawke and gives a quiet _woof _of apology.

"It's alright," she says, smiling at him fondly. "I know he's difficult to look after, what with the magic and all." He huffs in agreement, and she laughs. "Yes, just like me, I know. Next time he gets restless or hungry, perhaps you two can make yourself useful and hunt rats in the basement until we get up to feed you. They're getting all nice and fat from eating into the grain stores down there. I don't want them getting bold enough to join us for breakfast at the table."

Her mabari gives her a reassuring sort of bark, and picks Feathers up gently by the scruff of the neck before turning to leave, padding purposefully towards the door. Hawke follows and closes it firmly behind him, then freezes the bolt in place with an ice spell; small and precise, but so powerful I can feel it from all the way across the room. I gaze at her admiringly as she effortlessly works her magic, her unintentional display of power and control sending a pleasant shiver down my spine.

"There, now. If that troublesome little beast of legend finds his way up here again, that should take him a while to figure out," Hawke says, coming back over to the bed and sliding in beside me. She slips her arms about my waist, drawing me in close. "Now, where were we?"

"Are you sure it isn't, um, a bit too early?" I ask, though I can't keep the anticipation from my voice. I'm also quite certain I'm smiling like an utter fool. "We... we do get a little bit loud, sometimes. What if we wake the neighbours?"

Hawke smiles wickedly, raking her fingers through my hair as she presses me back gently, pinning me to the bed. "It's_ never_ too early," she murmurs breathily as lowers her mouth to my throat, smile widening at my gasp of pleasure as she presses her body to mine. "And loud is fine by me. I like knowing that you're enjoying yourself. Besides," she continues, her voice purring silkily as she whispers in my ear. "I don't give a damn about the blasted neighbours..."

* * *

><p>A very decent amount of time later, I carry the big bowl of scraps left over from breakfast out of the kitchen and put it down before the two furry faces waiting eagerly just outside the door. They set to almost before I have time to snatch my fingers out of the way, Feathers pushing at the big mabari like a halla fawn trying to jostle a stag. "There's plenty for both of you," I tell him reprovingly. "Hawke always makes enough so that everyone gets a share, you know." He ignores me, stealing a rind of ham out from under the poor old dog's nose with a swift grab of his greedy little beak. How can something so sweet and adorable one minute become such a bullying little ball of obnoxiousness in the next? Creators, I'll never know.<p>

Hawke glances up from her writing desk as I find my way back into the parlour, flashing me a quick but nonetheless heart-stopping smile. "Mother has arrived safely in Ostwick," she tells me, showing me the page of fine script in her hand. "They're having a wonderful time, apparently. And Sandal is a subject of great interest to Mother's friend, not to mention her husband…" She returns her gaze to the letter and reads Leandra's words aloud in a perfect imitation of her mother's cultured inflections, "… '_who incidentally, is a second cousin of Empress Celene herself, imagine, darling! He simply cannot _wait _to tell the whole court all about the fascinating dwarven prodigy and his enthralling enchanting abilities. Bodahn is beside himself with pride. Just think of it; our very own Sandal; the talk of the Orlesian Court! How very _exciting!'" She chuckles, shaking her head fondly. "Oh, Mother..."

"Well, it does sound as though they're all enjoying themselves," I say, smiling as I move to stand behind her, resting my hands on her shoulders and rubbing gently. "Did she have anything else to say?"

Hawke leans back into my touch as she finishes reading the letter, making a soft sound of satisfaction. "Just that she hopes we're all well, and that she sends her love," she answers. "And that she's not certain precisely when they will return, but she will be certain to let us know."

She folds the letter carefully, putting it safely away, and reaches for the other missive lying on the desk. It is a small scroll, neatly tied with a worn piece of string instead of a wax seal. Not that it's very much unlike many other letters Hawke gets from people who need her help, it's just... it looks very familiar, and I think I know why. That sort of cheap parchment is the best most people from the alienage can afford.

"Who is that from?" I ask curiously as she unfurls the scroll and scans its contents, though I don't try to read it myself. It's private, after all, whoever it was that sent it.

Hawke is silent for a little, a small frown on her face as she reads. "It's from Arianni," she replies after a moment, a note of surprise in her voice. "It isn't good news, I'm afraid. Apparently Feynriel's nightmares have gotten worse, and the Keeper doesn't know how to help him." She glances up at me, blue eyes wide with worry. "Arianni wants me to come and see her. I'm not certain what help she thinks I'll be, though, if Marethari's wealth of experience isn't enough."

"Oh, no..." I take a deep breath, feeling a deep surge of concern. "Oh, dear, Nyssa told me that Arianni was worried about Feynriel. I should have gone to see her as soon as I heard!"

Hawke tilts her head. "When was this?"

"Before the Emporium," I answer simply. "I said I would see her, I just thought the Keeper would be able to help Feynriel herself if something was wrong. Of course she would still have been worried, though; I should have gone ages ago!" Why didn't I go earlier? How could I have been so thoughtless? "It slipped my mind, I suppose. How could I let it?"

"Being attacked by a wyvern and kept in a magically induced healing sleep for more than a week is a reasonable excuse, Merrill," Hawke reminds me gently. "We can go and see her right now, if it will set your mind at ease."

I glance up at the window, considering, and then shake my head. "No, it's too late in the morning now." I smile a little at Hawke's look of confusion. "Arianni minds some of the younger children in the alienage while their parents are out working," I explain. "We should go towards twilight when they all go home and we can see her alone."

"Alright," Hawke agrees, reaching up to pat my hand reassuringly. "Twilight it is, then. We'll leave as soon as the sun begins to set. It'll be alright, you'll see."

I smile lovingly at her. "Thank you, ma vhenan." Oh, I hope Arianni is alright, and Feynriel too. If Marethari doesn't know how to help him, then no one else stands much of a chance. Except Hawke, of course. She may not see why Arianni asked for her, but I do. Hawke has... well, she has a way about her. She helps people without even trying; just by being there sometimes. It's like magic, of a sort; but unintentional, effortless. Perhaps the Creators truly do guide her steps, even if she is human. I feel a little less anxious now, knowing that Hawke will help Arianni. It is still a long time until sundown, though... I should try not to think about it too much until then, or I'll make myself sick with worry. I need to find some sort of distraction...

I look away from Arianni's letter in Hawke's hand, and notice the long thin cloth-wrapped parcel still propped against the side of the desk where I left it yesterday.

"Are you going to open this, Hawke?" I ask, stepping around her chair to pick it up. It's a little heavier than I expected, and very hard, like a thin piece of stone, perhaps, or metal. I can't imagine what it could be. Or who it could be from, for that matter.

"Ah yes, the mysterious package," Hawke says, glancing at it. She shrugs a little. "It's addressed to both of us, you said, isn't it? Why don't you open it?"

I blink in surprise; I'm not certain why it matters who opens it. "Really? Why?"

"Why not?" Hawke counters playfully, and smiles. "Consider it unwrapping practice for your next present."

Well, when she puts it _that _way... I flash her a smile in return and lay the package down across the desktop, fumbling awkwardly with the string tied tightly about the soft cloth wrapping. Suddenly Hawke's arm slips about my waist and she pulls me into her lap, pressing herself against me, breath warm against my neck as she looks over my shoulder.

"See?" she whispers. "Fun, isn't it?" I giggle, feeling Hawke's fingers tracing idly over my lower back as I tug at the unyielding knots without much success. After a few moments I hear the soft hiss of sharpened metal whispering from its sheath, and Hawke presses her belt knife into my hand. "Shortcuts are acceptable," she says, smiling.

I laugh as I cut the string and unfold the first layer of cloth. A yellowed piece of parchment falls from the folds, and I pick it up curiously, holding it up so Hawke can read it over my shoulder. The lettering is oddly clumsy, as though written by the unpracticed hand of a child, but the sophisticated wording tells a different story;

_Greetings, my friends. _

_Forgive me the presumption, but I can no longer suppress the compulsion to once again apologise profusely for the events that occurred within my establishment. I have missed the patronage of my two favourite customers, though I fully comprehend your hesitancy to come again. I assure you that there will be no such unpleasantness should you choose to return once more to peruse my vast assortment of rare, exquisite and enchanted merchandise. Recent disagreements notwithstanding, I am intensely intrigued by the both of you. I wish, if you are agreeable, to remain if not friends, then in business at the very least._

_It would be remiss of me not to mention that I have had the urchin retrieve certain items belonging to you that were left behind in my catacombs. They have been thoroughly cleaned, and only await their owners to come and claim them. I would of course have sent them with this parcel for your convenience, but alas, I fear that mage staffs are rather too conspicuous to be delivered by courier in the present climate of oppressiveness in which we currently stifle. I am also afraid Miss Merrill's belt knife could not be repaired; however as a sign of good faith, I have instead sent you two of the most prized pieces of my own personal collection. The belt knife I give to you, Miss Merrill, as a replacement for the one you lost. It is of elven make, I believe you will appreciate it greatly. The sword is a weapon forged from highly arcane materials and bound with powerful enchantments. I believe, Serah Hawke, that you would find such a weapon very suitable. I cannot tell you how difficult it was for Thaddeus to procure them, but it may interest you to know that both blades once belonged to the Hero of Ferelden herself._

_Adieu,_

_Xenon._

Stunned silence reigns for several moments as we read the letter. I can't quite believe what I just read. Xenon said... he said the things he sent belonged to the Hero of Ferelden, to Mahariel!

_Mahariel_...

Unable to contain myself I grab for the package and unwrap the cloth, revealing a fine, ornate longsword with a gold filigreed handle, the sharp bright blade set with intricately crafted runes and beside it... a small humble dagger of Dalish make, worn but well cared for, gleaming bright as sunlight on water. I reach for it slowly, feeling a strange feeling of familiarity as my fingers close about the handle. I... I remember seeing the blade in Mahariel's hand a lot. It... it belonged to her father. She used it for everything; to sharpen a spit for a cook fire, or skin game, or carve a little wooden animal for a da'len, or cut herbs or flowers for me to use in salves and potions... assuming this is the same blade, of course. Oh, I hope it was truly hers. I would so love to have something of hers to remember her by... I look the little blade over, examining it closely, and smile in delight as I find a tiny mark carefully carved into the hilt. I glance at Hawke, who is sitting with the longsword balanced carefully in both hands, studying it with a raptly curious look on her face.

"Do you really think that these belonged to the Hero, Merrill?" she asks, glancing up from her examination of the longsword.

I offer her the blade, showing her the mark on the hilt. "Oh, yes," I say quietly. "Look, Hawke, look here. Mahariel's initials, written in Elven script. I showed Mahariel how to scribe a little of the elven tongue. This blade was _hers_, it really was! How in the name of Elgar'nan did Xenon get this away from her?"

Hawke touches the small carved letters softly with a fingertip, tracing them with an expression of fascination on her face. "Doubtless they were stolen from her somehow. I'm certain any item belonging to the Hero of Ferelden would fetch a handsome sum." She looks up at me and smiles. "Perhaps ask Isabela. She might have heard something about it, or even be the thief herself. I daresay it would take someone of her expertise to steal from someone as well known and important as the Hero of Ferelden. In any event; however Xenon got his hands on it - so to speak - it's yours now. And who knows; perhaps you will get the chance to return it to her someday."

I cradle my friend's hunting blade in my hands a moment longer, before slipping it into my belt. "I hope so, ma vhenan," I tell her, unable to stop my voice from shaking a little. I really do miss Mahariel very much, especially in this moment. I am very happy to have something of hers to remember her by, even if it did come from Xenon and was probably stolen. But as Hawke said, perhaps I can give it back to her. One day. "Thank you for that."

Hawke nods, understanding in her eyes. "Of course." She holds up the longsword for my inspection. "What about this? Ever seen it before?"

I gaze at the fancy weapon and touch a hand to it gently, looking it over. "No," I answer absently, probing lightly with my mana, feeling the weight of the ensorcellments upon the blade. "She never had anything like this when she lived with the clan; none of us did, it's far too grand. It isn't an elven relic, either, I don't think. At least, it doesn't look like anything I've ever seen before, and it doesn't look very old. I don't see anything that could tell me if it belonged to Mahariel."

Hawke turns the sword over, showing me a small inscription on the hilt. "What about these?" she asks. "I thought they were runes at first, but they look more like those elven letters, now that I've seen them."

I peer closely at the lettering. "'Lath sulevin, lath aravel ena'," I read aloud, and glance at her in wonder. "You're right, Hawke, it _is _elven!"

"What does it mean?" she asks interestedly.

"It doesn't translate very well, but roughly it means 'Be certain in need, and the path will emerge'," I tell her. "It is from a very old song of the Elvhenan. Suledin. The song of endurance."

Hawke smiles. "A song, hmm? I would love to hear it sometime," she says playfully. "So perhaps this could have been Mahariel's after all?"

"It could have," I agree hopefully. "It seems to be a very new blade; she could have had it made, I suppose. Looks like she remembered my lessons better than I thought." It's quite surprising, really; she never seemed to pay that much attention, even when she made sure we could go somewhere alone so I could teach her, without distractions, she said. I always thought it was strange that she would specifically ask for me to help her learn to write in elven, but then seem so uninterested in the lesson itself, always talking about pretty cloud patterns in the sky, or exclaiming over a flower and picking it for me, or asking me to tell her stories. I didn't think I taught her much in the end, but clearly I was wrong. I look at the sword again, noticing another elven word, this one carved into the blade itself just above the hilt, and below the faintly shining runes. I translate it quietly to myself. "Vigilance?"

Hawke blinks at me curiously. "Hmm?"

I point out the word on the blade. "Another elven inscription. It just says the elven word for 'vigilance'. I don't know why."

"Perhaps it's the sword's name," Hawke muses.

I tilt my head at her in surprise. "Swords have names? Really?"

Hawke grins. "Fancy ones do. Sometimes, anyway, if they're special enough." She stands, holding the blade to catch the light, apparently quite enthralled by it. "Vigilance. It seems to suit it well. I'm not certain why Xenon would think it would suit me, though. Still, it is nice. Very nice..."

She walks a few paces into the centre of the room and rests the flat of the blade near the hilt across her index finger, checking the balance of the longsword the way I've seen Aveline and her guards doing at the Keep. I watch her with interest; she really looks oddly at home with a blade in her hands. I wonder why that is...

In a movement so fast it takes me completely by surprise, Hawke flips the sword from her finger and catches it neatly by the hilt, the blade whistling through the air as she gives it a few obviously well-practised passes, just like a guard or clan hunter practising sword drills. My eyes open wide in surprise, and I feel a flush start in my cheeks. Mythal, I had no idea she knew how to do that! I don't know why, exactly, but it makes me feel very sort of... hot, and flustered. In a good way, though. The sight of her wielding that blade is somehow so compelling, so... _enthralling..._

"It has a nice feel," Hawke says once she finishes, examining the blade carefully again. "Light, but strong, and the balance is excellent. And I can feel the power of the enchantments on it. Can you feel it too?" She glances up at me and finally notices me staring at her like an idiot, wide eyed and probably open mouthed as well. Her eyebrow quirks, and a small grin lights her features. "What is it? You're blushing right to the tips of your ears, my adorable elf."

My blush burns deeper, and I can't help but let a bashful smile curve my lips. "You know how to use a sword, ma vhenan?"

Hawke laughs a little. "Not really. Father knew the sword. I have no idea where he learned, there was so much he never told us about himself, but he taught Carver. I watched them at weapons training, even helped out a little sometimes if Father needed Carver to practise drills with someone else, so he could watch Carver and correct him. This was back when we lived mostly on the move, so there weren't a lot of options for drill partners." She gives a fond chuckle. "I'm certain Carver enjoyed it far more than I did; the only thing he could consistently show me up at. Once we moved to Lothering, there were enough other young men and women training for the Templars or the Bann's guard that Carver could spar with. I only ever learned a few drills, and it's been years since I handled so much as a practice blade. Certainly I've never used a real one in a true fight; I'm no swordswoman." She looks thoughtfully at the blade, and shrugs."I don't know why Xenon thought this would be of any use to me. He knows I'm a mage, not a warrior."

"Well, seeing you just now, I don't doubt that you could easily be a warrior if you wanted, ma vhenan," I tell her teasingly as I move over to her, examining the sword in her hands myself. "It seems to come very naturally to you. Carver was a very good sworder after all; I suppose it runs in the family. But maybe Xenon gave it to you because of the enchantments on it?" They certainly are strong, after all, the blade fairly sings with power. "Perhaps he thought you'd be interested in studying them a little." Although I can't say I think it would hurt for her to do some more of those blade drills, myself... I glance up at her cheekily. "Though now since you have a sword of your own, maybe you could learn swording yourself! I bet Aveline would be happy to teach you all about it. And I know I'd be _very _happy to watch you..."

Hawke's delighted laugh fills the entire room. "Would you, now?" she chuckles fondly. "Intriguing. I shall have to keep that in mind." She glances at the sword again, clearly very fascinated by it, and touches her finger lightly to the edge of the blade... then hisses sharply as blood wells on the tip. "It's sharp," she says unnecessarily, sounding surprised.

"It's a sword, Hawke," I smile. "Maybe that's why."

She gives me a look of mock annoyance, eyes smiling wryly. "I just wasn't expecting it, since I assume it hasn't been cared for by a proper... sworder for a while. I'd have thought it wouldn't have been sharpened recently, and it doesn't look or feel as though it's been oiled, so I'm not sure why it's kept such an incredibly fine edge," she says knowledgeably. Elgar'nan, I had no idea she knew so much about swords! I suppose she must have picked up a lot from her brother though, and Aveline too. Hawke shrugs. "Perhaps it's been enchanted so that it keeps sharp on its own indefinitely, or something." She puts the sword down on the writing table and turns back to me, cradling her finger with a plaintive look on her face. "_Ow_..." she whines softly, mouth turned down in a sad pout. "My finger hurts..."

"Oh, ma vhenan," I sigh gently. "Let me see."

I take her hand in mine and turning it palm up to examine the sorry digit. Hawke smiles happily at my touch. "Ah, see? I feel better already."

"You are silly," I giggle. "Hold still." I draw an elfroot leaf out of my belt pouch and crush it between my fingers, squeezing a few drops of the juice inside over the cut to clean it.

"It's only very minor, really," Hawke reassures me lightly, though she doesn't resist at all. "Easily taken care of with a little creation magic."

I nod, reaching into my pouch for another leaf and wrapping it around her wound to halt the bleeding. "Well, I'll take your word on that. I've always been very jealous of how easily you can heal, you know. I was never any good at it. Marethari gave up trying to teach it to me after a few years of trying." I smile up at her from beneath my lashes. "But perhaps I could kiss it better instead?"

"Mmm, well, I certainly wouldn't object," Hawke laughs. "But there's no reason why you couldn't still learn to use creation magic, even a little. Perhaps my approach would work better, and I promise not to give up on you. Would you like me to try and teach you?"

I think about it for only a moment before nodding eagerly. I'm sure Marethari's teaching methods must have been different to Malcolm Hawke's style. Perhaps it could work for me. There's no way to know unless I try, anyway. "Yes please, ma vhenan. I'd like to be able to heal minor wounds at the very least." It certainly would have been useful if I could have learned earlier, maybe then I wouldn't have so many scars. Not that I'd mention that, of course. Not out loud, at least.

"Well, then, no time like the present, hmm?" I nod again, and Hawke tugs away the blood covered elfroot leaf, revealing the open cut on her finger which still bleeds sluggishly. "The laceration is small, but fairly deep," she begins authoritatively and without preamble. I start listening attentively, a reflex born of days with Marethari when even a simple walk could suddenly turn into a three hour lesson at the simple sight of a rare herb or flower, or an old statue missing a head or something. "It's a clean cut because the blade was so sharp, so that's good. It will make the flesh easier to knit together. As you know the elfroot will have helped already to cleanse the wound, so now what you need to do first is persuade it to stop bleeding. Reach for your mana."

I close my eyes and do as she commands, casting within myself to the well of power shimmering like a pool of light. "And then?"

"Draw out a thread, and hold it firmly but gently," Hawke says, her voice soft and gentle. Soothing. "A small one will do, but make certain it is a thread of magic, not a drop or a ball, and that it remains connected to the rest of your mana. It isn't like casting fire or ice; you aren't throwing the magic away from you. Healing needs to come from within, and the mana you use needs to remain linked to your physical form so that you can draw on it steadily until the job is done."

That... that makes sense. "Like maintaining a shield?"

I feel rather than see Hawke nod. "Yes, only instead of a defensive spell, healing must be active, and there is a lot going on that needs your attention. That is why it requires such focus. You need to concentrate on drawing a constant stream of mana as well as applying your mind to fixing the ailment. In this case, you need to convince the wound to stop bleeding so much without cutting off the flow of blood from my arm entirely, or stopping my heart."

I very nearly let my thread of mana slip from my grasp at that. "I... I could stop your heart?"

She nods again. "Yes, if you aren't careful, or if you try too hard. You can increase my heart rate, slow my pulse, even stop it altogether if your will is strong enough. That's why you must be careful to concentrate very hard on precisely the area and degree you need to slow the bleeding to." I feel myself tense up at this upsetting information, and Hawke rests her other hand soothingly on my shoulder. "You won't hurt me, Merrill. It's alright. I am only telling you this because it's important to know, but it won't be an issue with such a minor wound. You only need a little mana, and it isn't hard to control the blood flow to such a small area. Take a deep breath, and I'll guide you through it."

I breathe deeply, letting it out slowly. "I'm ready."

"Alright. Now, you need to connect yourself to me with your thread," Hawke instructs. "Since I'm a mage, the link will be easier because we both possess mana, but it can be done with anyone. When treating non-magical people or animals, you can connect with their spiritual or life force. Your mana will bond with whichever is the strongest on its own."

I do as she tells me, listening closely to her soft reassurances and gentle guidance as I form a magical link between us. I remember the Keeper trying to show me how to do this, but somehow she never quite explained what I needed to do, exactly, not so that I ever understood. Or maybe it was just that I could never truly grasp the concept of connecting with anyone on a level like this. Perhaps that is why it is easier with Hawke because I trust her so deeply. I trust her with everything that I am.

A sudden warmth blossoms within me as my mana bonds with hers, and I gasp quietly at the sensation of my magical essence touching hers, entwining with her spirit... I... I can _feel_ her... _Oh..._ "Hawke?"

"You're doing fine," she says softly. "Can you feel me? It might feel strange at first, but-"

"It feels wonderful," I breathe in wonder. "_You_ feel wonderful, ma vhenan, so warm and safe and loving..."

Hawke gives a fond chuckle in her throat. "Well, it's different with each person, depending on who they are... and if you have any sort of relationship with them too, I suppose. You feel just as amazing to me when I heal you. But focus, now. Don't lose this connection. Now you need to go deep, just like when you reach for your magic. But instead of looking inside yourself, you have to look inside of me. You need to find the wound and see it from the inside. Do you see?"

"Yes. I think so." I really think I do. Things seem to make so much more sense when she explains them to me.

"Good. Then try." I let my mind flow through the connection, my consciousness seeking out the wound; a small sensation of wrongness in her life force right at the end of her finger. "Good," Hawke says gently. "Keep the connection, don't let it break or you will have to start all over. This is the hardest part. You need to apply your mana to the wound and let it flow out of you and into me, and you will have to concentrate on a few things at once, but you can't let go. This will be the same for any wound. First try and hold back the blood. Just in the fingertip. You need to will it to turn back so I don't lose any more, but still keep it flowing. Understand?"

"Yes." To my surprise, the blood does exactly what I want it to; the steady trickle from Hawke's wound slowing and then stopping, staying within her body. I suppose I have an affinity for commanding blood, now. In a way, it's sort of nice that I can use it for this; for something as unquestionably good and noble as healing.

"That's it, good," Hawke encourages gently. "Now. It shouldn't be an issue here, but you will need to check for and then burn out any infection first. Then _will_ the wound to heal. Your will has to be strong in order to do this. You have to want this to work more than anything, and keep wanting it, keep willing it, no matter how hard it is or how tired you get." I listen closely, not interrupting. "Healing requires patience and perseverance," Hawke continues. "You must keep your concentration and focus on nothing else. I know you can do that. Depending on the injury, you might need to make sure that the muscles, veins, nerves and bones knit together, starting with the deepest part of the injury first and working your way outwards. For this wound, since it isn't serious, all you need to do is knit the flesh first, and then the layers of skin one by one. Start at the deepest level, and work from there." I feel her mind joining with mine, gently guiding me. "I'll show you were to start, and I'll be with you, alright?"

I nod slowly, not letting my focus slip, shaping my mana about Hawke's fingertip from within and bringing my will to bear on the small wound, not letting myself think of anything else but compelling it to heal. Nothing happens at first, but I don't give up, I refuse to. I will learn this. I want to learn creation magic. I don't want battle and blood magic to be all that I am. I want to be able to heal, not just destroy.

At last, I see movement. Hawke's flesh begins to knit together, slowly at first but then quicker, cleaner, layer by layer until the wound is closed, whole and healthy.

"Good," Hawke whispers. "Now withdraw your mind. Once you're back within yourself, you can let go."

I draw back slowly, hard as it is to pull away from such a connection with Hawke, and open my eyes slowly. I look at Hawke's fingertip and a great big smile breaks over my face. I... I did it. I did it! I healed her! I healed! There isn't even so much as a scar! I look up at Hawke happily, and find her smiling back at me proudly.

"Good. That was very good, Merrill!" she praises me. "It will become easier and quicker with time and practice, until you can heal greater injuries near instantly and with much less effort. But that really was very good for someone who supposedly has no skill with creation magic. I'll make a healer of you yet."

"Thank you, Hawke, thank you! The Keeper could never make me see how to do that!" I bounce on the balls of my feet in excitement. I healed her! I _healed..._ "I feel just wonderful. Does your finger feel better now?"

"It does. You did an excellent job, dear heart." She smiles cheekily, and holds her finger out to me. "Although, just between us, it might just need a little something extra..."

_Oh!_ I smile, and kiss her fingertip softly. "There, ma vhenan. All better?"

Hawke nods, smiling happily. "Mmhmm. Much." She glances at the sword on the table. "Now that I've bled on it, Vigilance is mine; at least for the moment. That's what I remember from all Carver's talk of sword lore, at any rate."

"Do you suppose you might try to learn to use it?" I ask her.

Hawke is silent for a little while, chewing her lip a little as she thinks about it. "Maybe..." she says after a few moments. "Considering what nearly happened with Alrik yesterday. If I hadn't been able to throw off the Silence..." She looks up at me. "Concealed blades are useful in such situations of course, and I know a staff is a good for defence with proper training, even without magic. Father taught me well enough to use it effectively when I'm drained, just as you were taught amongst your clan. But perhaps it might be useful to train a little with offensive weaponry. And I suppose carrying a sword sometimes might help alleviate suspicion; after all, what kind of mage knows how to use a sword? But... it might also make me a target regardless. And it would be a very big commitment to begin learning to wield a sword..." She glances at the sword again, and then shakes her head. "I will have to think about it."

I nod a little. "Of course. We can still examine the enchantments on it and see what we can learn. That is probably what Xenon thought you might find interesting about it, after all."

Hawke makes a non-committal noise in her throat. "I can't question his choice in peace offerings. It _is _an impressive gift." Her eyes narrow a little. "Though I still think he has some nerve, asking us to come back after he took our blood, not to mention nearly getting you killed."

She has a right to still be so angry about that, I suppose. It was very strange, after all, what he did to us, and even if he needed the power of mage blood as part of... whatever he does to keep his body intact, it still wasn't right. I would never take someone's blood for a spell, especially without their knowledge or permission. That sort of thing is why blood magic has such a terrible reputation. Hawke said he called it 'old magic', but it just sounds like... like blood magic to me. Admittedly, I don't really know that much of the blood school apart from what I need to know for the mirror, but... perhaps what he is doing is along the same principles as what I am doing with the eluvian; using the essence of life to heal something broken. I can see why he wouldn't want to tell us about what he was doing with our blood but still, he ought to have asked, even if he thought we wouldn't want to help. We might have considered it. Besides... if you want something from someone, I've learned it's probably a good idea to explain everything to them properly. So they don't get scared by what they don't understand, and react... badly.

I take Hawke's hand gently, stroking soothing circles over her palm with my thumb. "Let's just leave it be, Hawke. It wasn't right, what he did, but he didn't mean for all of this to happen; with the wyvern and everything," I tell her quietly, then pat Mahariel's knife in my belt and gesture to the longsword, Vigilance, lying on the table beside us. "And we did get something for our trouble, after all."

"True," Hawke agrees. "Alright, I'll let it go. Never really been one to hold a grudge. Not that I'll be going to see that damned Antiquarian any time soon. I've several other perfectly serviceable staffs to spare, after all, and you can use any of them you like of course." She settles her hands gently on my hips and draws me close. "But I think I need something to take my mind off things for a while. And there's still quite a few hours to go before it's time to go to see Arianni." She smiles at me warmly. "What would you like to do to while away the time? Practice healing? Tell each other stories? Or..."

I smile back, slipping my arms around her neck and raising myself up on my toes to kiss her. "I'm sure I'll think of something..."

* * *

><p>"And the Grey Wardens of old used to fight many great battles with their griffon companions, who would carry them into the fray on their backs," I explain softly to Feathers, who flicks his ears as he listens to the story, purring softly in my lap. "They were friends and allies and comrades-in-arms. The griffon riders used to call their mounts 'aerials'. They had special armour too, and were fiercely loyal. And each griffon would choose their companion."<p>

"Just like Feathers did, with you," Hawke says fondly, a smile in her voice. She reaches her arm about me where I sit in her lap to stroke his furry ears, and Feathers chirps with happy agreement, his eyes blinking sleepily. Looks like listening to my tales all afternoon has finally lulled him to sleep. Because they're soothing, I hope, not because they're dull and boring. I don't think they're boring, anyway.

"I think somebody needs a nap." I smile down at him and then take him into my arms, getting up and placing him gently in his little basket on the hearthrug next to the lightly snoring mabari.

Hawke reaches out a hand to me as I make my way back over to her armchair, snaking her arm about my waist once I reach her. "How do you know so much about griffons?" she asks as I settle myself back into her lap.

I curl into her comfortably, smiling into her eyes. "Oh, my mother told me tales about them all the time. Her stories are one of the things I remember best about her."

Hawke tenses a little, shifting uncomfortably beneath me. "Oh..." she says quietly, her face falling a little. "I didn't mean to remind you of that."

_Oh, ma vhenan._ She really needn't be so concerned about the past coming back to hurt me all the time. Nothing can hurt me as long as she is in my life. "It's alright, Hawke. I don't mind talking about my parents. Not with you," I tell her reassuringly. "I feel like I can talk to you about anything." I tuck my head into the crook of her throat, revelling in her closeness, her scent. "You can always tell me anything too, you know."

She gives a sweet little chuckle, and I feel the vibrations thrumming in her chest. "I know," she whispers, resting her cheek on top of my head. "And there are a lot of things I want to tell you about. Just not all at once. But I'm still glad to hear you say it."

I frown a little at that, but not so she can see. I wonder what things she could mean? I won't press her, though. Whatever she has to tell me, she will when she's ready, I know that. I stay quiet instead, just enjoying her warmth, listening to the rhythm of her heart. I love her heartbeat...

Hawke is silent for a moment too, fingertips gently stroking my back. "How about another story?" she asks suddenly. "It will be twilight soon, but there's still a little more time before we should head to the alienage."

I glance up at her. "Shall I tell another griffon story?"

"Well, actually," she answers. "I was thinking it would be nice of me to tell _you_ a story for a change."

"Does it have griffons in it?" I ask, a bit cheekily if I'm honest. I want to make her laugh if I can.

She does. "No," she says, still giggling lightly. "I'm afraid I don't know that many griffon stories. This is an old Ferelden legend from the time of the Alamarri tribesmen. It was an Avvarian myth, I believe. Would you like me to tell it?"

"I love stories," I say softly. "I'd love to hear it, Hawke. Tell me please."

"Very well," Hawke replies smilingly. "I'm not nearly as well practised at storytelling as you are, but I'll do my best." She takes a deep breath and begins.

"In a time long ago when the world was young, humankind was different. We were not so isolated, nor so fearful, nor so weak. We were not so timid of heart and mind. We were neither too trusting, nor too suspicious in nature. We were neither too kind, nor too cruel, neither too happy nor too sad. We were not so alone in the world, because once, long ago, we were complete in mind, body and soul. Once, long ago, we were whole."

What could that mean? I blink in confusion, twisting my head up to look at her. "Whole?"

Hawke nods, smiling. "Yes," she answers. "Because each person was twice what we are now." Well, that wasn't really any more illuminating, but I hold my tongue and listen this time, and let the story explain itself. Storytellers shouldn't be interrupted unless they give an opening on purpose. "They had four hands, four legs, two heads and two sets of all parts which divide genders. Now we are two, man and woman, but once, long ago, we were three. There was man, and there was woman, and there was the union of man and woman. All people could move as fast as the wind, and were as strong as bears, combined as they were. Females were descended from the earth, males from the sun, and the man-woman, those who were unions of both, were born of the moon. Each person had two hearts... but they shared one soul."

Oh... One soul... that sounds beautiful. I smile as I rest my head back against her chest, letting her wonderful heartbeat sooth me again, enthralled by her voice as much as her words.

"These people were all strong, and vigorous, and whole," Hawke continues, lifting her hand from my back to stroke my hair gently, toying softly with my braids. "But at length the gods of old began to fear their growing power. The gods feared that the mortal people would rise to make war upon them, lay siege to their heavenly realm, cast them down and rule themselves in the immortals' stead. But the fearful deities still did not wish to destroy their creations outright..." Hawke lets the sentence trail away, and I nod knowingly against her chest, recognising this as a moment when I can add to the story and guess at the gods' motivations.

"Because who would provide them with worship and sacrifice if they did so?" I say quietly, and Hawke rewards me with a kiss to the crown of my head.

"Precisely," she says warmly. "You see the gods' dilemma. They feared mortals, but needed their worship and offerings. What were they to do?" She takes a breath. "At last, Korth the Mountain-Father, the king of all the gods, reached a decision. He chose to raise his hand and strike at the mortals with all his might and power, and in doing so, cut each person in two."

"He killed them after all?" I ask worriedly, completely forgetting to simply let the story unfold.

"No," Hawke assured me softly. "But some say he might as well have." Confusion floods me at that, but I stay silent this time, and let Hawke speak.

"He divided their bodies perfectly in two, so that each person now had only two arms, two legs, one set of intimate parts, one head, and one heart," Hawke says, "And in doing so, the Mountain-Father diminished their strength and their power. He healed their bodies and made the females into two women instead of one, the males into two men instead of one, and the joined male and female into one man and one woman alone. Their bodies, though divided, were complete within themselves. But Korth had also divided the soul of each person so that they were no longer whole; one half bound to each new body. And then he took the broken halves and scattered them across the world, so that their thoughts would not turn to seeking revenge upon the gods, but would be consumed only with the desire to find their other half."

Mythal, that seems... so sad, so cruel... Not to mention rather excessive, really. Why must the gods always be so forbidding and heartless? Something tells me that this is the part of the story that really requires quiet listening without questions, though, so I let Hawke finish without interrupting her again. I just want to hear her tell me the rest, now.

"And so they searched. The women born of the earth sought their other half among their own kind, as did the males born of the sun. The men and women of the moon search for others who too were born of the pale, glowing jewel of the night. And when the divided people found their other half, they came together in joy, becoming lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and one would not be out of the other's sight even for a moment, lest they die of loneliness, hunger and self-neglect. For once they had found one another, they could not bear to be apart." Hawke keeps smoothing my hair gently as I listen, spellbound by her voice and words. "And so it is now. These who are fortunate enough to find their other half are the people who pass their whole lives together, and yet they could not explain what they desire of one another. For the intense yearning which each of them has towards the other does not appear to be merely that of the lover, of bodily lust and fulfillment alone, but of something else, something deep and ancient and secret, which their shared soul desires and yet cannot tell. They know only that they cannot be parted again, and without knowing why, long to grow into one. So ancient is this desire born in us; to reunite our original nature, seeking to make one of two and to heal the state of human kind, that we are always and eternally looking for our other half without ever even knowing what we seek until we find it. Men born of the moon, who were once paired with women, are lovers of women, as women born of the moon love men. Though a man born of the moon may find a kindred soul in another such man, as may a woman in another female child of the moon, for they are cut from the same cloth. The men who are halves of the man do not care for women, but have affection for males and seek their male counterparts. And the women who are halves of the female have affection for women and embrace them, entwine in mutual embraces, longing to grow into one. It is in our very nature to love and be loved in return, always embracing that which is akin to us, kindred in spirit, alike in heart, that which once completed us. Because when two were one, we were whole. And thus now, the desire, the hunger, the hunt for the whole is called love."

I breathe in quietly, completely touched and enchanted by her story. Creators above... it's _lovely_...

"Now, everyone has a deep desire within their heart to seek endlessly for the one person who can make us whole again. The one who can complete us," Hawke finishes, her voice soft but utterly enchanting, as compelling as her wonderful tale. "We give our lives to search the world... for the other half of our soul."

She falls silent.

I sit quietly for a moment, utterly unable to summon words to express how that story makes me feel. "Oh, ma vhenan..." I breathe softly at last. "That was... it... it was just _beautiful_." I had no idea humans had such wonderful legends. That truly was lovely. If only there was an elven legend like that... I hardly know what to say.

Hawke gives a bashful sort of chuckle. "Well, I'm glad you liked it," she says quietly.

"Oh, I more than liked it. I loved it, Hawke. It was _wonderful_..." _The other half of our soul..._ I glance up at her. "I know that was a human story, but... do you think maybe that could be true for other races too? Not just humans, but elves as well?"

"I don't see why it shouldn't be," Hawke answers. "Maybe all of our gods are the same really, but we just have different names for them. Maybe all of us once came from the same race, at least to begin with. All I know is, that story reminds me of how I feel about you." I breathe in, feeling a wonderful jolt in my chest, and her arm tightens about me. "Merrill, with you I can let my guard completely down and talk about the hard things without being afraid in the slightest. It's like... well... it really is like talking to the other half of my soul." She laughs a little, sounding sort of faintly annoyed with herself, all of a sudden. "I suppose that sounds a bit silly, but... well... it's the truth."

I smile as my heart gives another little shiver of joy. "That doesn't sound silly at all. I feel just the same." What a wonderful thing to say. "I... I feel like you are the other half of my soul, too. And Hawke?"

"Mmm?"

"About what you said before..." I begin quietly, wondering if I should even bring it up, but pushing ahead with it anyway. Sometimes she needs reminding that I want her to confide in me, even if she thinks it will upset me. I am strong enough to hear it, and I want to be there for her. She needs to know that. Sometimes she is the one who needs comfort and protection, and I want to give it to her. "If there's ever anything worrying you or weighing on you, anything at all, don't be afraid to tell me."

Hawke breathes in deeply once, and then nods. "Of course, my love," she promises softly. "And you know you can always do the same."

"I know," I reply without hesitation. "And I will. You are my best friend, Hawke. The truest friend I've ever had, and I... I love you so much. I trust you completely with my heart. It's so easy to talk to you, as easy as breathing, like we're... connected, heart and mind and spirit. Like you are my... my..." I pause, thinking. I can't think of what to call it, exactly, though I feel there must be a word for it.

"Soulmate?" Hawke ventures softly, gazing into my eyes.

"Soulmate," I repeat. That's it. That's perfect. "Yes. I like that very much."

"So do I," Hawke smiles, leaning in to give me a tender kiss, drawing back with reluctance after only a few moments. "As much as I wish we could stay here forever," she says softly, a secretive, loving smile on her lovely mouth, "I think perhaps it might be time to head to Lowtown now."

I glance at the window and nod in agreement at the sight of the setting sun. "You're right, ma vhenan, " I sigh, clambering carefully out of her lap. "Always the sensible one."

Hawke laughs. "Well, now you know that just isn't true." She rises and moves to the hearth, crouching down to speak to her dog. "Do you think you'll be able to keep him out of trouble for a while?" she asks, nodding pointedly at Feathers, still snoozing in his little basket. Her sweet mabari gives a gruff rumble of assent, and she ruffles his ears. "Thank you. And good luck with that."

She stands, reaching out to me, and I slip my hand into hers, beaming at her. "Come on then, ma sa'lath," she smiles. "Let's be on our way."

* * *

><p>"I don't think she can hear us knocking, somehow, Hawke."<p>

I can hear the childish, playful screams even through Arianni's heavy plank door as Hawke and I stand on the threshold. Obviously the parents haven't yet come to take their children home. I don't know how many children Arianni usually minds, I don't tend to bother her when she is watching them, but it sounds like a lot.

"Small wonder," Hawk murmurs, smiling a little as a loud shriek of wildly happy laughter fills the air around us. "I can only imagine how loud it is inside." She looks behind us, and I follow her gaze, seeing the eyes of several elves loitering beneath the vhenahdahl upon us, though whether they are staring out of curiosity or disapproval, I can't tell. "Perhaps we ought to just go in," Hawke suggests quietly.

I nod, agreeing. "I suppose. I'm sure the parents won't be long; not a lot of work can be done after nightfall."

Hawke gives me a small, affectionate squeeze in response. "Fair point. Alright, then. It's a good thing that with a pair of younger siblings, I have had a little experience coping with young children, I suppose. But it sounds like there's an awful lot of them in there." She breathes deeply. "Here we go..."

She pushes open the door, and we walk inside into a world gone mad. The small front room of Arianni's home, so sparse and empty looking whenever I have come before, is now full of about a dozen small children, laughing as they run about dizzily, scrambling over the furniture and each other like a litter of tumbling puppies. Hawke shares a wide-eyed glance with me, and then I close the door behind us and peer about the room, trying to see Arianni. The children have yet to notice us, caught up as they are in whatever game they are playing. I can't help but smile a little as I watch them, boisterous as they are. They remind me very much of the da'len back in my clan; certainly they are just as energetic and unruly. Children are just the same everywhere, it seems.

Arianni comes into the room from a door opposite us, carrying a large bowl of fruit in her hands. She spots us and stops, and Hawke raises a hand in greeting.

"Hello, Arianni. Sorry to barge in like this," she begins apologetically. "We did knock, but..." She gestures pointedly at the mob of children, now swarming happily about Arianni, tugging eagerly at her skirts. Attracted by the food she carries, most likely.

"No, Hawke, please, it's quite alright," Arianni says in a rush, putting down the bowl of fruit on the table. The children notice us at last and fall silent, staring with wide, bright eyes. "Everyone sit down at the table and take a piece of fruit for supper," Arianni instructs them. "Just one each, mind. There is enough for everyone. No pushing! Your parents should be here to take you home soon." They obey her, a little subdued by the strangers in their midst, I suppose.

Arianni comes over to us. "It is very good to see you both. I'm glad you've come. You got my message? About... about my son?"

I nod. "Yes, that's why we're here. Arianni, I am so sorry. Nyssa told me you were worried about Feynriel. I meant to come and see you long before this."

"It's alright, my dear," Arianni says warmly. "I heard you were injured recently. Are you well now?"

"I am," I tell her, wondering what else she may have heard. But it isn't important now. "What's wrong, Arianni? Hawke and I will do whatever we can to help."

"Thank you," Arianni says gratefully. "Do you think you could wait a few minutes? The children's parents should be along shortly to take them home. Then we can talk properly. This won't be a conversation for little ears." She glances worriedly at Hawke. "I hope you don't mind..."

"Of course not," Hawke reassures her. "We'll wait."

I feel a light tug on the bottom of my tunic, and look down. A small child with very dark hair stares back up at me, bright blue eyes huge in her tiny heart-shaped face.

"I know you!" she says brightly. "I seen you before! You're the pretty Dalish from the clan outside the city!"

I blink in surprise for a moment, and then smile down at her. "Well, I'm certainly Dalish. My name is Merrill."

"Are you her friend?" another child asks Hawke as the others suddenly crowd around, apparently having finished or abandoned their supper. "I seen you here before, too. You're a human, aren't you?"

Hawke nods, smiling. "Did the ears give me away?"

The children laugh. "My papa says humans are mean, but you're funny! And silly!" a little black-haired elven boy says loudly. "What's your name, silly human?"

"Hawke."

"Like a bird!"

Hawke gives a soft laugh. "Exactly."

The little dark-haired girl still clinging to my tunic reaches out her other hand and grabs a hold of Hawke's shirtsleeve as well. "Do you wanna play with us?" she asks, bouncing on the balls of her small bare feet. "We're playing Dane and the Werewolf." She bares her teeth with adorable fierceness. "Grrr! Arrooo!"

"Dane?" Hawke asks in surprise, raising her eyebrows a little. She gives me a brief glance, and then looks back at the children. "But Dane was a human. Don't you want to play as elven heroes?"

The little ones look at each other in apparent confusion. "Like who?" one of the braver ones pipes up at last. "Elves aren't heroes, are they?"

Hawke glances at me, looking a bit bewildered. "Of course they are!" she says, looking back around at the children. "You mean you really don't know of any?"

"Their parents don't really know any stories of the People," Arianni says, a touch of apology in her tone. "And I'm afraid I never really learned any amongst my own clan. Not well enough to tell them myself, anyway. I do try to tell them what I can, but I don't have the knowledge or skills and they don't believe me, so I read to them from the books the Chantry sisters donated to us. Mostly stories of human histories and legends of course."

Hawke nods in resigned understanding and I frown, glancing about at the children. Perhaps I should have tried to involve myself more in the alienage; tried to pass on stories of the People that I know. I have the training for it after all, where Arianni does not. But then, if the adults don't want anything to do with me, I doubt they will let me talk to their children. It is a very grave shame that these da'len know nothing of their heritage, especially that they don't even have any elven figures of legend to look up to. Perhaps I could write some Dalish stories down for Arianni to read to the children, at least.

Arianni excuses herself and goes to the table to fetch the empty fruit bowl, carrying it into the back room for washing, and Hawke turns back to the little ones. "Well, there are lots of elven heroes. Merrill has told me lots of stories about brave Dalish elves," Hawke says, resting her hand on my shoulder. "And there was Shartan, of course. He helped Andraste free his people from the Tevinters. And what about Gaharel? He was the elven Grey Warden who killed the Archdemon and stopped the fourth Blight. And of course, there's Mahariel. You must have heard about her."

The children are silent for a moment, looking at each other, and then one little girl whose features mark her as a child of both elf and human looks up at Hawke excitedly. "OH!" she says loudly. "I remember her! My mama tol' me 'bout her! She's the Dalish Warden, she fought Darkspawns with King Alistair and magickers and dwarves and Leliana the bard and assassins and everyone! And then she killed the big demon dragon thing in Ferelden!"

"The Archdemon," Hawke corrects patiently. "And yes, she did. Merrill grew up with her, you know. They came from the same clan."

The children look at me, wide eyed. "Really?" a bright eyed little boy asks, awestruck.

I nod, smiling at him. "Yes, da'len. She was a very good friend to have. She is very good and kind, and brave. She was always the best with a bow, and she could fight with any sword, even if it was bigger than she was."

"Wow!" the small boy breathes, obviously very impressed. He looks around at his friends. "I wanna play Wardens and Darkspawns!"

The dark-haired little girl still clutching at our clothes grabs both hands onto Hawke's sleeve and pulls. "Play with us!"

The other children nod fervently in agreement. "Yeah! Please?"

Hawke laughs as she lets them lead her into the open space at the centre of the room, the children bounding happily around her.

"You can play too," the bright-eyed little boy tells me hopefully. "You wanna?"

I smile down at him fondly. "I'm not very good at playing. But I might, in a minute," I tell him, and he nods happily and rejoins his friends. I stay where I am; content to watch Hawke with the children for the moment. I didn't even know how to play with children when I was a da'len, let alone now. But I am enjoying watching Hawke with them, it really is very cute.

"I'm Mahariel!" the little girl attached to Hawke's sleeve yells, letting go at last to jump happily in place. She grabs a long wooden spoon from the dinner table. "Cos I got a sword!"

"I can be Leliana, the pretty singing bard!" the tiny elf-blooded human child cries happily, tucking her hair behind her very slightly pointed ears and pretending to play an invisible lute. "La la la!"

"I wanna be King Alistair!" a small, pale haired boy with almost comically large ears announces grandly.

An even tinier little boy with bright red hair jumps to his feet, thumping himself excitedly on the chest. "I'm all the Darkspawns!"

"And I..." Hawke says, making her voice as deep and booming as she can, raising her arms above her head, her fingers twisted into claws. "... am the Archdemon! The big demon dragon thing!" She snarls playfully at the children. "Grrr! Arrgh!"

The children scream in delight and mill about happily in pretend terror.

"Aaah!"

"Kill it, Mahariel, quick!"

"Kill it, Kill it!"

The dark-haired da'len runs up to Hawke, ducks under her arms and pokes her in the belly with the wooden spoon. "I killed you, I killed you!" she crows triumphantly, brandishing her little spoon-sword. She pokes Hawke again. "Be dead!"

Hawke clutches at her stomach, giving a pitiful pretend moan, and collapses dramatically to her knees before falling to the floor, lying motionless.

The children all scream and laugh, and little 'Mahariel' puts her hand on Hawke's shoulder and shakes her. "Okay, don't be dead anymore." Hawke opens her eyes immediately, sitting up with a lovely smile and a bright laugh. The child smiles back at her. "Now let's play Magickers and Temple-lars!" she yells in excitement. She points the wooden spoon commandingly at Hawke. "You pretend to be a magicker!"

"I'll try," Hawke says, glancing at me with a surreptitious grin which I return widely, watching her in delight. Creators, she is just so _adorable_, playing with the children on the floor. Arianni comes back into the room and sits at the table, watching Hawke and her new little band of admirers with a pleased expression, and I move to sit next to her, quite content to just observe until their parents return. I had no idea Hawke was so good with children. She must have made a great big sister to Carver and Bethany; I can just imagine her playing with them like this. She'd probably make a wonderful mother too, to look at her now.

"I'm a 'prentice magicker!" a little boy yells gleefully, miming making fireballs with his tiny hands. "Fwoosh!"

Another boy leaps to his feet, pretending to twirl a staff. "I'm the Firs' Chanter!"

"That's First _IN_chanter, silly," one of the girls laughs, and Arianni and I share a smile.

"I'm a Temple-lar!" yells the little girl who pretended to be Mahariel. "But only 'cos they got swords. I like swords the bestest."

Little 'Alistair' grabs a piece of kindling from the wooden crate by the hearth. "Me too, me too! I'm a-a Temple-lar too! I want a sword!"

"And I'm the Knight-Commandamer... Commadandummer... um... I'm the biggest scariest Temple-lar lady!" cries a tiny wisp of a girl, her large, dark eyes shining in her tiny pale face. She grabs a stick too, the longest one in the pile, and turns to the others, brandishing it in front of her. "'Cos I've got the biggest sword, _and_ the sharpest one! I'm coming to get all the magickers and lock you up inna tower!"

"Oh, no!" Hawke cries, a look of make-believe fear on her face. "Quick! Everybody _run!_"

I laugh as all the little 'magickers' scream and run into the back room after Hawke, chased by 'Meredith' and the two little 'Temple-lars' as all three lift invisible swords above their heads and yell at the top of their lungs.

"Grrr!"

"Arrgh!"

"Arrooo!"

* * *

><p>xxx H xxx<p>

* * *

><p>The small house seems oddly empty once the children are all gone; strangely sad, and filled sort of... lonely quiet. I suppose it's just the suddenness of the change. They really were sweet little things. Noisy, but sweet. It reminded me very much of playing with Carver and Bethany, so long ago now. Odd how easy it was to join them in their games, but then, I suppose maybe some people never quite grow up all the way. I can't say the thought bothers me at all, and I hardly think it's a bad thing. Playing with the little elven children just now was an absolute delight for me when all's said and told, for one thing. Merrill's small hand finds mine beneath the table, and I smile at her fondly. She seems never to have lost her sense of wonder and childlike purity, for another. In fact, they are among the things I love about her the most.<p>

My attention returns to the moment as the front door closes behind the last child to leave, skipping out happily with her very tired-looking mother. Arianni joins Merrill and me and sits down opposite us, her expression now serious and troubled. Time to discuss why we came here.

"I was hoping you would come," she says with quiet fervour, meeting my eyes. "You did so much for my Feynriel already, but..."

Her voice tails away, and I give her a small, encouraging smile. "It's alright. I'm here to help if I can. Your letter said Feynriel's nightmares have caught up with him. What's wrong?"

Arianni's eyes brighten as she struggles to keep her composure. "I cannot say for certain, but it was clear he was unwell. He would never tell me anything, but it wasn't hard to see. I knew it must have been his nightmares. I visited him among the People, but he turned me away. The Keeper had no answers for me, but I knew the demons still plagued him." She gives a dry sob, raising her hand to her mouth. "And now they've taken him! Two days ago, Feynriel went into a nightmare and hasn't returned."

"Mythal protect him..." Merrill whispers, reaching across the table and taking the sobbing woman's hand, eyes shining with worry and compassion.

I frown in concern. "He can't be woken up?"

Arianni shakes her head, holding tightly to Merrill's hand. "The Keeper says he is near death. His lips still fog a mirror, but that is all."

That is serious. The body cannot long survive without the spirit, not even with the most skilled healer's assistance, and if Feynriel is truly trapped in the Fade... "Has anyone gone after him?" I ask. "Surely the Keeper could pursue him in the Fade."

"That is why I asked for you, and why it is so fortunate you have come tonight," Arianni replies. "I have contacted Keeper Marethari. The Dalish have an ancient ritual that might help. But it requires someone Feynriel trusts to enter the Fade to free him, and despite three years spent under her tutelage, the Keeper does not believe that she is the one to do it. She says he has always felt too different, too... human to feel that he can bond with any of the clan, and in truth I doubt his human parentage made it easy for them to trust him either. But Feynriel holds you in such high regard, Hawke." A note of desperate pleading enters her voice. "If anyone can help my son..."

Something inside me cringes at the hope in her eyes. I truly don't know why I inspire such faith in her beyond being a mage, of course. But if the Keeper cannot reach him... even if he does trust me, I'm not certain why that would be of any more help than Marethari's experience. I will try, of course, but it is very hard, knowing that she sees me as her best hope for Feynriel's salvation when in all likelihood there is nothing I can do. "I have braved the Fade before," I tell her, trying to sound reassuring. "Perhaps I can aid him. How can I help?"

"You have been so kind to us. Feynriel thinks of you as a true friend," Arianni says gratefully, a slight quaver in her lilting voice. "My friends among the clan tell me he speaks of you all the time." She takes a breath, and makes a brave attempt to answer my question. "The Keeper says Feynriel's nightmares come from powers that are a throwback to ancient magics that once let elves shape the Fade. The only way to reach him is through his dreams."

"Shape the Fade? You mean, alter the Beyond with conscious intent?" Merrill asks, sounding awed. "How would such a magic work?"

Arianni shakes her head. "I'm afraid I cannot answer. I am no mage. I only know the Keeper said it was a power greatly feared by the Tevinter mages." She glances between us both. "Marethari is coming to speak to me tonight about the ritual. Now that you are here, perhaps she can perform it once she arrives."

"She is coming here?" I ask in surprise. "Feynriel is still in the Dalish camp, is he not?"

"The Keeper said his childhood things here will anchor his spirit to this world," Arianni answers, somewhat uncertainly. "He feels no great strong connection to the clan, but here he felt as though he belonged, at least for a time."

Ah, of course. I nod in understanding. Then this is the best place to perform the ritual. "She is right," I tell Arianni. "The connection to Feynriel's dreaming mind will be more potent here. It will act as a focus to draw him back through the veil." I meet her eyes. "As long as he has someone he trusts to lead him."

Arianni's face brightens hopefully, and she glances between Merrill and I. "Then you will stay? You'll help my son?"

I nod, and Merrill smiles gently at her. "Of course we will," she tells the older Dalish woman soothingly. "We'll wait right here until Marethari comes." Her smile doesn't waver as she mentions Marethari, but her voice gives the slightest quiver and her fingers clutch mine a little tighter beneath the table. I squeeze back reassuringly; there will be no repeat of anything like what occurred the last time we met with the Keeper, that's for certain. But I understand why she still feels troubled by the thought of seeing Marethari, especially here within the alienage. And for more reasons than one.

"Oh, thank you!" Arianni cries gratefully, smiling. "Your courage is truly legendary." She glances at the darkening sky outside the window. "Marethari should be well on her way by now; we can begin the ritual as soon as she arrives."

I nod. "Do you know anything of what this ritual will entail?"

"The Keeper can explain it better than I, but it is an ancient magic rite performed long ago by the People's more powerful mages. It will send your minds into the Fade." Arianni hesitates. "Once there, I imagine you... face down the demons until Feynriel regains control of himself." Merrill and I share a concerned glance, which does not escape the older woman. "She did mention that whoever she sent did not have to be a mage. If you could not come, she would have tried the ritual anyway, but you are its best chance of success. But... if there are others who would assist you against the demons, then there is time to call them, if you wish," she suggests. "I can send runners to bring them here myself."

I consider for a moment. If that is possible, then it wouldn't hurt to have some extra muscle in the Fade, so to speak. Anders as a mage is an obvious choice since he is already familiar with the spirit realm, and I think it would help him to do this. It would be good for him to help Feynriel and feel like he can do something positive for a fellow mage, particularly after yesterday's events with that mage girl beneath the Gallows. And if the ritual can truly send non-magical people into the Fade, then it couldn't hurt to have someone without mana along for the ride as well; someone without the spark of the Fade inside them that the demonic inhabitants find so attractive in mortal prey. "Send a runner to the Hanged Man and tell them to ask for Isabela or Varric to see if they can assist me here, then," I tell her. They're the closest, after all. Likely to be the most readily available as well, unless they've already headed off to the Blooming Rose for the night, of course. "And Anders, the Darktown healer. Do you know of him?" Arianni nods. "If he can be reached, he might be of great help to us. He has experience with this sort of thing."

Arianni rises, green eyes bright with hopeful determination. "I'll be back shortly," she says, and hurries outside.

Merrill gives a small, sad sigh, so quiet I almost miss it. I look at her worriedly. "What is it?"

She glances at me and smiles, shaking her head dismissively. "Oh... it's nothing, Hawke. I'm fine, really." I hold her gaze steadily, and her smile slips, then she sighs, shoulders slumping a little. "Well... it's just... the Keeper would delve into the ancient magics to help an elf-blooded human boy she has only known for three years?" She looks down sadly. "She wouldn't do so for me..."

I thought that might be what was wrong. I wrap my arm around her and hug her close. "I know, love. I'm sorry. You don't have to see her if you'd rather not. There's still time; you can leave before she gets here if you wish."

Merrill shakes her head quickly. "No, no, it's alright, I want to come with you, Hawke." She looks into my eyes hopefully. "I can come, can't I? I want to help Feynriel, and I'd love to see the ritual. And I promise I won't be a bother."

"Of course I want you at my side," I reassure her gently. "And you are never a bother to me, Merrill. You never have been, not once."

She smiles at me, though I can still see a shadow of doubt in her eyes at my words. It saddens me that I still can't make her believe that. I wish I knew of a way to raise her sense of self worth so that she would stop feeling that way about herself. Considering her upbringing, its entirely understandable; taken from her family so young, denied their love and care; dedicated to a life of learning, duty and little else without any choice, charged with a Keeper's impossible task of reclaiming Dalish heritage, such high expectations and immense pressure placed on her slender shoulders... but I don't know how I can prove her own value to her any more than I already have, other than to continue to show her the love and affection she deserves, to assure her every day that she is loved and wanted. I suppose it will just take her time to adjust to the feeling so that she can begin to believe it for herself. In the meantime, a change of topic should distract her well enough.

"I am curious about this ritual myself," I comment lightly. "Sending someone into the Fade should require large amounts of raw magical power, and as far as I know there are only two ways to acquire enough; blood or lyrium. And I don't see where the Keeper would get her hands on too much of either. Do you think we'd need to find some? Lyrium, I mean."

Merrill frowns thoughtfully, her attention successfully diverted. "Well, she certainly wouldn't use blood at any rate," she says, a little wryly, "but the clans collect lyrium wherever we can find it for magical uses, or to trade in human settlements sometimes, though not ones with too many Templars of course. We even trade secretly with the dwarves sometimes. Marethari may have enough already, especially if this ancient ritual can somehow augment the power of a small amount." Her voice takes on a dreamy quality, expression filled with a scholarly enthusiasm. "Some of the old magical methods for things we found in the old scrolls were so much more efficient than we thought possible. The ancient elves were so very wise. If only we hadn't lost so much..."

The front door opens, and Arianni steps inside. "I sent for your friends," she tells us. "And one of the returning labourers told me that a group of Dalish were at the city gates as he passed, asking for entrance. Marethari will likely be here soon, would you like to come outside and wait with me?"

I glance at Merrill, and she gives a nod and a little reassuring smile. "Alright," I reply as we rise from the table. "That would be polite. And besides, how often does a Dalish Keeper set foot in an alienage? Whatever else happens tonight, this will be something to see."

* * *

><p>xxx M xxx<p>

* * *

><p>I shift a little from foot to foot as I watch Marethari speaking in low tones to Hawke on the other side of the room while Arianni arranges things for the ritual in her bedchamber. From the look on Hawke's face, the conversation is not at all pleasant. I don't know why it is making me so nervous. Probably because the last time Marethari spoke to Hawke alone, she convinced her to deny me the arulin'holm and wounded me to my very core, that might have something to do with it, I suppose. That is a completely irrational fear, I know; this is hardly the same situation at all. I doubt the Keeper would be trying to turn Hawke against me for my own good... at least not right now. And I know that Hawke would never do anything like that to me again. But sadly, fear does not respond to logic, it seems, especially when coupled with such deep past hurt.<p>

Isabela, casually perched on the table edge, reaches out to me and tousles my hair in affection, as though she sensed me getting foolishly nervous and worried. I giggle softly at the unexpected gesture and give her a grateful smile. Likely she knows why I'm worried, no matter how foolish I'm being; she was there last time after all. She returns my smile with a wink and then glances over at Anders who is leaning against the wall, a worried frown on his face, amber eyes fixed steadily on the Keeper and Hawke. Her eyebrow quirks, and she grins mischieviously.

"Hello? Is Anders there? Can I speak to Anders?"

Anders glances away from Hawke and Marethari, and shoots Isabela an irritated look. "You can stop yelling. It's always me."

"Oh, good," Isabela says brightly. "I didn't want to talk to that other guy. You know; the stick-in-the-mud."

"He can still hear you," he retorts, a little crossly, and glances away. "Justice and I are one."

He sounds very sad, and I think I know why. Isabela was joking, of course, but maybe her jesting made him think of what happened when he lost control of Justice. I'm sure he still isn't feeling any better about that, it's only been a day, after all.

"Anders?" I ask quietly. "Are you alright?"

He glances at me in surprise, and shifts uncomfortably, rubbing a hand over his stubbly jaw. "No," he replies, his voice short and angry. I'm not sure if it is directed at me or himself, perhaps a little of both. "I nearly killed an innocent girl. How could I be alright?"

"I'm sorry," I tell him. I probably shouldn't have brought it up, I was just trying to be kind to him.

Anders straightens, turning to me with anger in his eyes. "You're sorry? For me?" he says incredulously. "This could be you! You could be the next monster threatening helpless girls!"

Isabela slips off the table and shifts her weight onto one leg, folding her arms across her chest and staring at him without speaking, somehow managing to project a very loud and obvious warning into so small and silent a movement. I wish I could do that...

Anders looks at her and makes a visible effort to calm himself down. "I'm... sorry..." he says, slumping back against the wall and glancing away from us.

I touch Isabela's arm gently, grateful for her support, though I don't think I need it too badly right now. He's just still hurting is all. "Anders..." I begin softly. "There's no such thing as a good spirit. There never was. All spirits are dangerous. I understood that. I'm sorry that you didn't."

Anders is silent for a long moment. "It's not a good feeling, you know," he says suddenly.

I blink at him in confusion; I didn't really think he'd want to keep talking to me. "What?"

"Being an abomination." He lifts his head and fixes me with a piercing stare. "I just got a taste of your future."

Creators, I'm getting very tired of trying to be nice to him and receiving endless lectures and jibes in return. I might appreciate it if I thought his concern was just for me, and not partially a remnant of his confused guilt and insecurity over his own... situation. "I'm not that foolish," I reply, looking at him crossly. I'd never let Audacity inside me I'd fight to the last to keep that from happening. I'd certainly never actually offer myself to him as Anders did with Justice. "Our relationship is, um, strictly platonic."

Anders ignores what I say, as usual. "It's like you're trapped in your own body, seeing out your eyes, while someone else moves you like a puppet," he drives on bluntly, his tone growing harsh and forceful. "And you're trying to scream, to move a single muscle, but there's no escape. Until you look down at the blood on your hands..."

"Stop it!" I interrupt him, trying to keep my voice low so as not to attract Hawke's attention. Her patience with him is short enough. If she hears him talking to me like this, she won't react well, and we need him right now. And I really don't like what I'm hearing."You're scaring me."

The corners of his mouth twitch up into a small grim smile of triumph. "That's the point."

"Stow it, Anders," Isabela says, her voice low and practically a growl. "You've made your point before. A lot. Frankly, and I hate to tell you this, but it's getting _very _boring."

"I'm just trying to talk some sense into her, since no one else seems to be trying anymore," he retorts, and then continues speaking before she can respond. "Anyway, you wanted to speak to me?"

Isabela snorts delicately. "Not really. I just wanted to make sure it was you."

Anders gives her a weary look. "Very funny. But in the Fade, chances are it won't be me."

"What?" Isabela asks, startled.

"The Fade is Justice's home. So I suggest you mind what you say about him before we go through the ritual," Anders informs us soberly, looking worried again. Well, more worried than he usually does, anyway. "I... have no control over him in the dream realm. I worry what a journey to the Fade might bring out in me."

"I'm sorry, Anders," Hawke says remorsefully as she walks over to stand beside me. I suppose she must have heard that last part of what he said. "I didn't realise that Justice had such control in the Fade." She looks between Anders, Isabela and me as Marethari and Arianni join us. "We're ready to begin now, but if you're worried, there's no need for you to risk it."

Anders shakes his head quickly. "It's alright, Hawke. I can still help you. Justice could be useful to you in identifying and resisting any demons you may encounter. Likely more use than I could be, in fact. And I rather think I owe you some favours."

Hawke nods. "And you, Isabela?" she asks. "Are you certain you want to do this? There will probably be rather a lot of demons, you know."

"Yes, yes, don't worry, Hawke," Isabela says, dismissing Hawke's concerns with a wave of her hand. "I've faced more than my fair share of demons and monsters running about with you, I doubt I'll be bothered. And I never give in to temptation." Hawke raises an eyebrow, and Isabela grins. "Oh, you know what I mean. Besides, frolic through dreams? Sounds like an experience. I'm game."

"Alright." Hawke looks at Marethari. "We're ready."

The Keeper nods soberly, and gestures to the furs and blankets spread out on the floor in Arianni's bedchamber. "Very well. In here. You may wish to remove any items that will cause you discomfort before we begin. Such as your chainmail, da'len." She looks at me directly, smiling faintly. I blink in surprise, I haven't seen her look at me with anything but disapproval in a very long time. I smile back a little, and she beckons all of us into the next room. "You will not need it in the Beyond, and it will help if you are as comfortable as possible. Once you are ready, lie down, and we shall begin."

* * *

><p>xxx H xxx<p>

* * *

><p>With the Keeper's soft chanting in my ears, I close my eyes and open them again to the glowing light of the Fade. Her ritual is powerful indeed; I hardly felt the transition at all, as though my spirit left my body in no more than the space of a breath. I look about, trying to get my bearings and see where Feynriel's sleeping mind has fled. We appear to be standing in a cold, barren hall comprised of unforgiving stone. It is stark and almost completely bare of any furnishings or decorations, apart from a few plain floor rugs and some decorative shields adorning the walls. I step closer, trying to make out the insignia. Flaming swords and sunbursts... oh, no, surely not.<p>

Why in the Maker's name would Feynriel be here?

"Is this the Templar Hall?" Merrill pipes up beside me, gazing about curiously at our austere surroundings. "What an awful thing to dream about..."

"This is it? I figured the Fade would be full of sex and boats and violence! I mean, based on my dreams," Isabela quips merrily as her spirit shimmers into being. "Now I've been to the Gallows three times in two days, sort of. Not to mention setting foot in the Chantry as well. That's more than enough of the spiritual than I'd want in a year." She shakes her head wryly. "Ten years. A bloody lifetime, actually."

"I don't know why his mind would draw him here," I murmur softly. "I'm not sure he's ever even been to the Gallows at all, let alone within the heart of the fortress itself. That's where we must be, I think."

"Perhaps the demons drew him here," Merrill suggests. "To remove him from anything familiar and unsettle his mind so they can take him more easily." I nod, her words making sense, and she tilts her head at me, eyes wide, biting her lip thoughtfully the way she does before she is about to ask an important question. "Hawke? What was it that Marethari was talking to you about before? You know, when she had you alone? If you don't mind me asking, that is."

She must be worrying because of what happened last time I spoke to Marethari alone. I smile at her gently. "It was about Feynriel, love."

Far from alleviating her anxiety, Merrill's eyes only widen further in worry. "What did she say?"

I give a heavy sigh as I think back to that unpleasant conversation. "She told me that because of Feynriel's dreamer abilities to shape the Fade, if he becomes an abomination, he will be unstoppable. She told me that if he becomes possessed, or if I believe he cannot be saved... I must kill him. She says that if he dies in the Fade... he will become Tranquil."

"Creators... he must really have the potential to be very dangerous for her to suggest such an awful thing. What did you tell her?" she asks quietly, a poorly hidden note of horror in her voice at my revelation.

"That becoming Tranquil is Feynriel's greatest fear, as well it should be," I reply immediately. "I told her I would never be the one to make it come true; for him or for anyone."

Merrill nods fervently. "Of course not. You won't have to, anyway. We're going to save him."

"Wait..." Isabela says slowly. "So if the boy is killed while he's here, in the real world, he'll become Tranquil?" She glances worriedly between Merrill and I. "What about you? Does this happen to all mages if they are killed in the Fade? You'll become one of those soulless... things?"

"I don't know," I answer truthfully. "I've never been killed in the Fade. I thought that if I 'died' while in the dream realm, it would simply jolt my spirit back into my body and I would wake. Perhaps Dreamers can be made tranquil because they exist in the Fade a little differently, a little more completely. I'd have thought my father would have warned me if that could happen, but then perhaps he didn't know. I can't say I'd like to find out either way if we can help it."

"I don't remember the Keeper ever mentioning such a risk to me," Merrill says, sounding concerned. "Perhaps it is just somniari. When Anders arrives, we can ask him if he's ever heard-"

"I had not thought to return in such a way," a familiar, booming voice proclaims behind us. "It is good to feel the breath of the Fade again, not the empty air of your world."

We turn around. Anders stands a few paces behind us, fully manifested, but... not himself. His skin and clothing writhe with veins of glowing energy, his eyes now shining orbs of effervescent cerulean light, all too close a reminder of yesterday's events. Anders was right it seems; in the Fade, Justice has control of his soul's form. I only hope the spirit can keep a better hold of his temper today.

I step forward warily. "Justice, I presume?"

He glances at me briefly, nodding once, and then strides past us. "Come. I sense Feynriel's mind straining," he says brusquely. "We will not have much time."

I hesitate for a moment and then follow quickly as he marches towards an open doorway at the far end of the ephemeral Hall. Apparently we aren't going to address the fact that he tried to kill me only yesterday. Truly I can't see what about this rude and abrasive spirit made Anders want to become friends with him in the first place, much less let him merge with his very being. I will be keeping my guard well up about him this time, I think. "Right. Well, remember, we're just here for a visit, so don't get too homesick."

I increase my speed and slip through the doorway with Merrill and Isabela at my back, stepping into the inner courtyard right behind Justice. We follow him down to the bottom of the stairs, where he halts with unexpected abruptness, glancing about, clearly at odds about what to do next. We appear to have reached, if not a dead end, then a crossroads of sorts; there are several gates and doors leading out from this place, and Feynriel could be behind any of them. I look about cautiously, trying to remain alert and on guard. With three powerful mages suddenly come into the Fade realm at once together, it will not be long until we attract the notice of a-

"Well... it's rare to see two forgotten magics in one day." The grotesque, misshapen form of a lesser demon abruptly manifests before us as though summoned ironically into being by my wary thoughts, its deep gravelly tones filled with intrigue and cunning.

"A sloth demon," Merrill says, eyes narrowed distrustfully. She glances about at us, speaking quick and urgently. "Think active thoughts! Like... running and jumping and such."

"Call me Torpor," the loathsome creature simpers. Ugh, Maker's blood, it looks like an overgrown cockroach in a robe. "I trust you're here for the Dreamer mage, Feynriel? I have a proposition that might interest you."

It knows something about Feynriel? Considering that I and even Justice, our resident Fade denizen, are currently at a loss for our next move, it might be helpful to play along for a little. Just to see what it knows. "Speak," I allow it, my tone sharp and forbidding. "But I promise nothing."

The sloth demon twists about, fixing each of us in its misty glowing stare. "I sense the magic in you... yes, you could do it..." it mutters almost to itself, and then turns to speak directly to me. "Two of the most powerful demons in this realm are vying for control of the Dreamer. Sadly, I'm no warrior. I couldn't stand up to them. But if I did, I'd only want the boy's power to secure my position in the Fade. You cannot find him without my help, and you cannot leave without him. Without my assistance, you are stuck here. One with power such as yours... you could preserve his mind from the demons who fight for him. Agree to bring him to me unharmed, and I will have the power to free you. And I shall reward you handsomely in exchange."

"Don't listen to him," Justice orders, fixing me in a commanding stare. "Sloth demons prey on your trust! It exists to make men forget their purpose and their pride—do not relax around it!"

"I'd be no threat to your world," Torpor wheedles in a poor attempt to sound convincing.

"Trust me, please," I mutter quietly to Justice. "I know what I am doing." The spirit glares back impassively, unmoved, and I turn back to the demon, hoping Justice will at least try not to interfere. "So if I help you possess Feynriel, you won't attack Kirkwall?"

"We are drawn to the mortal realm to merge with a living soul. Once I've done so, what need will I have for your people? I merely want power against my own kind. Bring me Feynriel, and I will grant anything you ask: power, magic, money, the strength of ten men! The boy will return to his body, as you will. He will simply have... a passenger."

"This is a _monster_," Justice says forcefully, the timbre of his voice growing deeper, darker. "It asks you to sacrifice an innocent to its ambition!"

I shake my head at him almost imperceptibly, trying to urge him to be silent without speaking. _Maker's flaming breath, just play along, just for a few minutes..._

"Ignore this tiresome little spirit," Torpor says dismissively. "I ask only what it has already taken, a willing merger with a human host."

I glance at the form of Anders's dream self, which is now glowing with a brighter blue light than ever; a sure sign that the spirit within is close to losing control. If Anders is in there, he must surely see what I am trying to do if he knows me at all. I can only hope he is somehow able to persuade Justice to stay his hand a little longer. "Tell me about the demons menacing Feynriel," I ask the sloth creature, trying to look as though I might seriously consider its proposal rather than finding the very concept of trading Feynriel's freedom for profit sickening to my soul.

"There is a demon of desire, called Caress," Torpor replies, clearly eager to buy my trust with information. "She ensnares him in dreams of bliss from which he will not emerge. The other is a creature of pride, known as Wryme. It offers Feynriel the power to control his life and world."

Caress, and Wryme. A desire demon and a demon of pride are tempting him. Such powerful enemies will be difficult to defeat, but every piece of knowledge helps. "How is Feynriel now?" I press, attempting to sound interested rather than desperate. "Is there still time to save him?"

"He suffers under the demons' assault. Every time they strain his connection to the mortal world, his mind breaks a little further," the demon answers, clearly trying unsuccessfully to sound as though it does not immensely enjoy the thought of Feynriel's suffering. "The pain of it shakes this entire realm."

Alright. He suffers, but he has not yet broken. Now I must know how to save him. "What would it take to defeat these demons?"

"They each weave an illusion for Feynriel. You must help him reject it. But be cautious—shatter the dream too quickly, and his mind will break. He must reach the realization on his own. Agree to deliver me his mind - intact - and I will reward you beyond your wildest dreams."

Unable to contain himself any longer, Justice steps in close to me, the face of his host twisted into a furious grimace. "Do not work with this creature!" he roars. "I_ will_ stop you!"

Torpor eyes Justice with a mixture of caution and wary disdain, drifting a few paces back from the livid spirit as though debating whether or not to retreat.

_Andraste's pyre, not now!_ I must know where Feynriel is, there isn't time for this! "Don't fight me on this," I warn, a note of pointed urgency in my voice. _Dammit_, Justice! The creature has already told me all about the two of its demonic brethren competing for Feynriel, how to break their hold and save him from them. Now I just need it to keep talking, to tell me where to find him. If it were Anders in control he would trust me, but Justice... Maker, just a few moments more and I'll have all I need to know-

"My kind and this have been opposed since the beginning of time," Justice snarls. "This is a creature of complacency! Of injustice!"

"Don't-" I begin, but the wrathful spirit ignores me, drawing Anders' staff from his back.

"I cannot let you treat with it!"

_Damn him to the fires of the Void!_

A great ball of blue spirit fire manifests in Justice's hand, and he hurls it at me. It explodes against the arcane shield I only just manage to raise in time as Merrill lifts a hand and rips the earth and stone from beneath his feet, encasing his legs and petrifying him. Isabela takes the chance to leap around behind him as he struggles to break free, slashing at his back as he bursts from his stony prison and then leaping out of the way as he turns on her in a blind rage, knocking her into the wall behind and sending her tumbling dazed to the ground. Justice advances on Isabela, his attention now firmly fixed on her alone. Merrill casts a shield about her as Justice lashes out with a storm of crackling lightning which even the swiftest, most agile rogue couldn't have otherwise avoided, even without a concussion. I summon my mana and form it into a powerful spirit bolt, but hold it back; I have no idea what will happen to Anders if I destroy his form here, protected by his spirit friend or not. If there's a chance he might awaken Tranquil, or Maker forbid never awaken at all...

Merrill gasps with the effort of holding the shield over Isabela. "Hawke!" she calls. "What do we do? I can't hold it, he's too strong here!"

I can hesitate no longer; even if she wouldn't be harmed in the waking world, there's no way I can be truly certain of that and Anders would never forgive himself if Justice hurt her. I could never forgive myself for not preventing it. "Take him down," I order grimly.

Her eyes widen a little in anxiety but she nods, summoning fire and hurling it at the possessed form of our friend as I release my pent-up spirit magic at last. The force of it surprises me; it pierces Anders' body like a hail of shimmering arrows, causing Justice to roar in anger as his form rips asunder and fades from existence, leaving only spatters of evanescent blood on the stone beneath which soon disappear into nothingness.

I breathe heavily, staring at the place where Anders... Justice... vanished. Merrill drops her arcane shield and hurries to help Isabela to her feet, murmuring soft words of concern and receiving a half wry, half reassuring smile in return. "I'm fine, kitten. I've suffered far worse, I assure you."

"What human wanted to merge with a prig like that?" the sloth demon scoffs, oozing back over to where we stand. It fixes me in its unblinking stare. "Where were we? Ah, right. Fabulous powers, yours if you deliver me the Dreamer." Torpor raises a taloned hand, indicating the closed doors on the landing above, directly to the left and right of us. "Use these doors to enter the other parts of Feynriel's nightmare. You will take on the form of something he dreams. Gently guide him out of temptation—if you disrupt him too quickly, his mind will snap. Are we agreed?"

"Thank you, but no. I have what I need," I answer, a slight sneer on my lips. The charade is done with; the demon has told me everything without my having to promise it a thing. "I will not give in to temptation, fiend. But thank you very much for all your help. Much obliged. Truly."

The demon makes a noise between a growl and a sigh, its brightly burning eye flashing as it summons its power. "Have it your way."

I scowl grimly and leap into the fray, the strength of my power fuelled by the anger and guilt of being forced to attack my friend, taking pleasure in the flash of fear across the monster's twisted features as I summon the full force of my mana and strike. A single sloth demon is no match for me, even in this realm. The demon roars in anger and fear as Merrill and Isabela add their strength to the battle.

A few spells and slashes and it is done, the demon weak and easily defeated as I suspected it would be.

"I rather hoped it might put up a little more of a fight," Isabela says in disappointment. "That was hardly what I'd call satisfying. I'm itching for a proper brawl."

I glance up at the door on our left, behind which awaits one of the truly powerful demons we must face to save Feynriel, if the sloth demon spoke the truth. I glance at Merrill and Isabela, beckoning them to follow me up the stairs to the waiting doorway with a jerk of my head. "Don't worry," I tell her wryly, pushing the door open. "I have a feeling you'll get your chance all too soon..."

* * *

><p>The young child sitting at the writing desk blinks up at his fondly smiling father, blinking in confusion. "But... why can't I remember you?"<p>

"This is a trick, Feynriel," I persuade the boy, my words gentled by his mother's soft burr as I wear her form. "He wants something from you."

"Why...?" Feynriel says slowly, and then takes a deep breath in sudden realisation as his mind begins to fight the demon's dream at last. "That's right! I spent my whole childhood waiting for you!"

Vincento assumes an expression of wounded sorrow. "Your mother never allowed—"

"My mother loves me!" the young Feynriel cries indignantly, anger and suspicion now heavy in his high boyish voice. "She showed me the letters she wrote you. You never wrote back. And it was Mother who taught me to write, not you! I've never met you before! Who are you?

The dark spirit in Vincento's form glares at Feynriel, wavering and flickering, the demon's glamour fading as it loses its grip on the mind of its prey.

"Don't... question..." The creature's human appearance abruptly melts away to reveal the true monster underneath; hair replaced by horns, fingers by talons, eyes by strange, slit-pupilled feline orbs, chiselled male features replaced by a dark parody of the female form. The newly revealed desire demon snarls in anger. "Me!"

The boy screams and flees the dream, vanishing from sight as the room shifts and takes on the image of the Templar's Hall once more. I feel a small shiver run through me as my spirit abandons Arianni's form and my own appearance reasserts itself at last.

The desire demon, Caress, turns to me, her strangely disturbing but oddly alluring body gleaming in the soft light of the Fade. "You! You turned him against me."

"Complete accident," I retort lightly, hard-pressed to keep a smug grin from my face as I spread my hands in mock-innocence. "I was trying to help. Honest."

Merrill's spirit form winks back into existence on my left. I breathe a sigh of deep relief; Maker above, I had no idea what happened when she and Isabela simply vanished like that. Thank blessed Andraste the Fade returned her to me unharmed.

"Ma vhenan!" she cries, grabbing my hand. "Are you alright? What happened, where's Feynriel?" She eyes the demon before us warily. "Did she hurt him?

"No," I tell her softly. "His mind has fled this demon's clutches safely, but we need to find him before the other can turn him."

A flash of light to my other side, and Isabela appears, looking somewhat dazed and confused. "Where'd I go just now?" she asks, her voice faintly uncertain and slightly queasy. She blinks and looks around, spotting the demon. "Well, at least this one is better looking than the last one," she says with a brave attempt at her customary bravado. "Let's hope it falls just as easily."

The demon blinks at her, then tilts her head at me, a sly, vengeful expression creeping into her eyes. "Take away my pets, and I'll take away yours," she says slowly, her voice a sinister purr. "How loyal are these friends you drag into the Fade? Would your pirate queen stay if the open water beckoned?" I frown, not liking where this is going in the least. Caress turns to Isabela, smiling enticingly. "What do you say, sweetheart?" Her tantalizing words flow from her like honey as she sways her hips beguilingly, thin tail swishing behind her as she glides towards us. "A two-mast brigantine, square-main topsail... A hundred well-built lads to answer your every whim." Her eyes lock with Isabela's as she slides her clawed hand up her body to cup her own naked breast, fondling and kneading herself, favouring the pirate queen with a sultry grin. "I know you've been looking for a... _stiff _masthead..."

Isabela's eyes widen, growing dark with want, and she breathes in deep. "Ooh..."

_Maker, no..._ "Don't fall for it," I warn her. "This is a demon, Isabela. Don't let it tempt you."

She turns to me, golden eyes already clouded with greed and desire for Caress's empty promises. "Well, if it wasn't a demon, I wouldn't think it could grant wishes..."

Andraste, I don't want to fight another friend! I throw up my hands in exasperation. "Maker's bloody balls, Isabela!" I meet her eyes angrily, filling my voice with urgency as I try to appeal to her sense of friendship. "Should I turn around now to let you stab me in the back? Or would you rather it be a surprise?"

Isabela only laughs, apparently taking my comment as wry approval. "You are just the sweetest!"

Caress turns to me, grinning evilly in triumph. "You have cost me a Dreamer, little mage, but at least you will provide me a death!"

"Isabela..." Merrill says warningly, pleadingly. "Don't listen, please. We're here for Feynriel. Don't fight us, please don't."

Isabela wavers visibly, looking at Merrill with worried eyes, and for a moment, just a moment, I feel a sliver of hope that her kitten has changed her mind...

But then the demon speaks again, her melodic voice compelling, her violet eyes piercing and hypnotic.

"The 'Siren's Call Two' awaits in Kirkwall Harbor," she says, running her fingers softly along Isabela's cheek. Isabela moans softly, and Caress gives a wicked smile as she steps back out of reach of the battle that is about to ensue. "I'll be under the furs... in the captain's quarters."

Isabela hesitates a moment longer, staring at her, then reaches for the daggers sheathed on her back, drawing them in one fluid motion. The smile she wears as she turns slowly to face us is as vacant and cold as her eyes.

"I like big boats, I cannot lie."

She raises her blades and attacks.

* * *

><p><em>Maker's breath... please, may I never have to kill another friend...<em>

"Do you think Isabela will be alright?" Merrill asks worriedly as we hurry along the corridor to face the final demon. "What happens to a non-magical person when they get killed... um, if they die in a dream?"

I shake my head. "I don't know, Merrill. I think she'll just wake up, like in a normal nightmare, but I just don't know."

Merrill takes my hand gently. "I'm sure she's fine. We'll wake up and find her waiting for us when we save Feynriel and get him safely out of here, you'll see. I'm sure they're just fine, Isabela and Anders both."

I sigh. "I hope so."

"Ma vhenan." Merrill squeezes my hand and I glance at her, finding her looking up at me. "I know how you're feeling. Don't feel bad about Anders and Isabela. They're going to be alright." She pauses for a moment. "And you know... it wasn't so much Anders as it was Justice who turned on you just now, and he simply can't be reasoned with, we know that. So there's no reason to feel badly that he didn't trust that you knew what you were doing. And as for Isabela..." A small, cheeky smile plays over her lips. "Well, she is only _human_, after all."

I can't help but laugh at that, taking joy from the way Merrill's eyes light up as I do so. "Very true," I tell her as we reach the final door at last. "Well, I promise that whatever demon lies behind this door, I will not give in to my crippling humanity and let it tempt me. That's a promise. We'll defeat it, help Feynriel and get out of this nightmare at last. As long as we're together, there'll be nothing to it, right?"

* * *

><p>Maker's fetid breath, this nightmare is even worse than the last. Needless to say, I feel extremely uncomfortable right now, stuck in the body of a man, one whom I've never even met in person. It isn't even just the difference in gender or height or race that I find disconcerting. The First Enchanter appears to suffer from a very exacerbated allergic reaction to the rough woollen robes of the Circle, even here in the Fade. Localised in some very, very <em>uncomfortable<em> places... no wonder he has such a reputation for being irritable.

"Don't listen, Feyrniel," I warn urgently, ignoring all... distractions... and locking eyes with the half-elven boy. "Say no. This is a trick."

"First Enchanter? What are you doing here?" the now fully grown form of Feynriel asks me, glancing in puzzlement at the regal form of the Sabrae Keeper standing beside him in the walled garden of the Templar Hall. That the form of this dream is less immersive in its illusion is encouraging; on some level Feynriel must already see that something isn't right. After all, when would a Dalish Keeper set foot in any Templar stronghold under any circumstances other than duress? Why would either of them be here? Feynriel looks back at me, eyes narrowed. "Mother told me the Dalish are honorable! Why would the Keeper lie?"

"Why would she entrust her people to a human?" I counter. The boy frowns as his mind plays over this new inconsistency, looking suspiciously at the 'Keeper' from the corner of his eye.

The demon wearing the form of Marethari shoots me a fearsome glare and turns to back to its prey once more. "You are one of us, Feynriel," 'she' announces grandly. "Your magic will restore our greatness."

"But... you told me this magic was outlawed for a reason," Feynriel says slowly. "Even the Dalish don't practice it anymore."

"It is too dangerous," I remind him. "You know that is what Marethari truly believes. Could the elves trust you with the power to shape reality?"

The boy hesitates, wavering. "I..."

"Could you trust yourself?" I ask, pressing the advantage home. I must make him see that this is not Marethari. She does not consider his power as a means to reclaim Dalish heritage, she has made that perfectly clear, and she would not in any way have said anything in the waking world to make him believe so. He must remember that, and see through the demon's illusion.

"You have a gift we feared lost," the demon wearing the Keeper's face tells Feynriel persuasively. "As somniari, you can tap the power of the Fade and the spirits within, as we all once did. A Dreamer's mind shapes the Fade." The demon reaches out and touches the elf-blooded Dreamer possessively on the arm as he blinks at her in bewilderment. "Open yourself to the spirits, and you can bring that control to the mortal realm."

The boy looks between her and me with a look of wary confusion. Perhaps my arguments, disturbing as it was to hear myself pontificate in the deep voice of a man, were good enough to sway him after all. "Spirits?" Feynriel says slowly. "You... you mean demons! Weren't you..." His eyes widen and he backs away from the Keeper's form. "Keeper Marethari warned me of this!"

"Don't listen to him!" the demon orders harshly. "The First Enchanter is trying to keep you from realizing your greatness."

Feynriel shakes his head, eyeing her in distrust. "Trying to keep me from temptation, just like you were. You're not the Keeper! Mother's people have no Circle, but they don't consort with demons!" He waves a hand dismissively at the demon. "Begone, fiend!" he cries, his voice hard and steady in a very impressive attempt at sounding forceful and commanding.

'Marethari' turns her fierce glare on me again. "You! Why did you interfere?" Her body trembles and shakes, contorting horribly as the demon concealed within the illusion bursts forth, dissipating the slender elven frame. Feynriel's soul remains frozen in horror for a moment, and then turns and runs, tearing free from the confines of the dream. I feel myself return to my normal form as the nightmare world breaks. Merrill reappears in a flash of light and hurries to stand beside me, gazing wide-eyed at the enormous creature before us. This must be Wryme, the demon of pride.

The dark monstrous spirit turns its terrible visage to me, its maw twisted in a vicious snarl. "With my power joined to his, Feynriel would have changed the world!" it growls angrily, deep voice echoing and booming about the high walled courtyard.

The sheer size of the creature towering over us is daunting enough, but I can feel the power within it from here. I only hope Merrill and I can defeat it quickly enough with our strength combined, and find Feynriel before anything else happens to the poor boy. I meet its gaze steadily, readying myself for the attack that must be coming. "The boy only wants his freedom, not your power."

"Those who are free to choose, _always_ want power," Wryme answers with a sneer of disdain. "You think your friends are different?" I feel a subtle shift in the very fabric of the world around us as the demon turns its gaze on Merrill, something resembling a vindictive smile on its face. "You think this elf, with her innocent face, would turn down a demon's offer? She didn't before. I feel the touch of one of my lesser brethren on her already."

The strange feeling in the air grows; the demon is exerting its power... Maker, it's trying to influence her. She won't let it tempt her, I know it. She agreed to find another way to fix the mirror, to help her people without demonic help. She won't...

"How about it?" Wryme asks compellingly, leaning its brutish head in Merrill's direction. "Would you take what I offered the boy? Scion of the Dalish, saviour of elvenkind?"

I look at her and freeze, dismayed to find an expression of cautious interest on her face. "Can you... do that?" Merrill asks, a note of longing in her lilting voice.

_Oh, Merrill, no. No, no, no, no, no..._

"I am the greatest of my kind!" Wryme declares, sending a wave of spirit energy flowing about Merrill, causing her to visibly sway where she stands, eyes wide. I take her by both arms, trying to get through to her, anchor her, but the demonic power surges through her form, shocking me into releasing her. Maker, it's strong, I can feel its influence myself. If I were the one Wryme was directing its attentions towards, I don't know if I could resist, but Merrill... she is strong, she is, she can fight it, she must! She will. She has to. Because if she can't... if the demon forces her to turn against me, and I have to fight her... Maker, no, _no..._

Wryme gives a satisfied chuckle deep within its throat. "You want power to help your people? Whatever tricks your little pet has taught you will pale in comparison."

_Maker, please, don't listen to it, don't!_ "Don't trust it, Merrill. Demons always turn on you in the end," I remind her urgently.

She looks between me and Wryme, and shakes her head a little, confliction and confusion clear on her face. "Hawke? I... I can't... can't think..."

"Don't listen to it, Merrill. You must fight its hold on you, you know that! Fight!" _Fight, love, please! Please don't do this, don't make me hurt you, I can't stand the thought of hurting you! Please..._

She meets my eyes desperately, and I see the fear within them as she fights the demon's call... and loses, all resistance fleeing her face and voice as the spirit envelops her in its full persuasive power. Her eyes grow dim, her expression slowly turning blank and unfeeling. "I... cannot put you ahead of the fate of my people," she says at last, her voice dull and near-indifferent. She raises her staff, adopting a battle stance.

_No..._

The demon gives a roar of triumph, flexing its claws. "You took my Dreamer, now you'll take his place!" It stares down at Merrill, flinging a limb towards me as it gives a ringing command. "Attack!"

Merrill obeys mechanically, summoning a spirit bolt as she slashes with her staff, the blade of her staff ripping into my shoulder just as her spell hits me. I cry out, staggering from the blow, and drop to my knees as she lashes out at me again, her face devoid of all emotion.

"Merrill, stop! The demon is in your head, fight it!" I block her blow with an arcane shield and push out with my mind, throwing her back, She lands a few paces from me and rises without hesitation, already turning back to attack me again. "Merrill, please, fight it!" There is no change in her vacant expression as she continues to come at me, her movements precise but impassionate, fully under the sway of the pride demon. I envelop her in a shield to stop her, try to hold her in place with petrified stone but she breaks through both effortlessly without a care for the damage to herself, her strength fueled by the monstrous being controlling her.

I can't hurt her, I can't, how can I? She isn't in control, this isn't _her_-

I feel the crackle in the air as Merrill summons a lightning storm and my heart breaks as I realise I have to act, or she will kill me. And she and Feynriel will be trapped here forever under the demons' thrall. _Maker..._ I thrust the butt of my staff between her shins and twist, knocking her onto her back once again on the cold hard stone, winding her. Wryme gives a terrible roar of rage as I take the chance to call a maelstrom of scorching flame around it, enveloping it in a burning cloud which it struggles to dispel. I scramble upright while the demon is distracted and stand over Merrill, the melee blade on my staff poised over her heart as she gazes up at me, wide green eyes blank and unseeing but still so full of light...

Maker above, I can't do it, I can't bear to hurt her, I _can't_-

Wryme roars again, shaking off the last of the fire, and lashes out at me with one long, heavily muscled limb, the force of the blow sending me flying across the courtyard and smashing into the wall right across the other side. My staff rolls across the pavers as I drop to the ground, stopping just out of reach. I use the wall to drag myself up, wincing at the sudden flare of pain in my torso, knowing that if this were real I'd have fractured a rib or two from the impact. I suck in a painful breath and summon the strength to lunge for my staff as Merrill walks forward, summoning fire in her free hand as Wryme strides behind her, a maniacal grin on its beastly muzzle. Andraste save me, I cannot fight them both at once. I can't hold Merrill back, and I can't defeat the demon with my strength divided between them.

Maker forgive me, I know I have to do it, I _know_ I do...

_Oh, Merrill, forgive me..._

Quickly, I freeze the stones beneath the demon's feet, buying time as it struggles to keep its footing on the slick ice. Merrill raises her hand as the fire in her palm flares-

-and I lunge forward in the same moment, bringing the sharp metal tip of my staff to her now undefended chest and slashing precisely at the pulsing artery in her slender throat, sobbing as the blade bites home.

_Forgive me, love, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!_

I tear my eyes away as Merrill drops her staff and slumps to the ground, fingers clutching desperately at her throat, and turn back to the wretched demon as it finds its footing and twists to face me, snarling. I turn the ice beneath its taloned feet to water, my heart screaming with the horror and pain of what I've done as I summon the full strength of my mana into the fiercest, hottest bolt of lightning I've ever called, shooting it straight into the newly melted pool in a burst of passionate magical rage. Wryme shrieks and howls as the lightning sears and chars his body from the inside out, an ungodly symphony of dying screams abruptly cut off as its life force gives out and its form vanishes. Dead.

My staff clatters to the floor as I turn and run, falling to my knees beside Merrill, taking the small form of her soul into my arms as she chokes and bleeds. She stares up at me with wide, frightened eyes, the emerald orbs no longer tainted with the shadow of the demon's control but filled to the brim with pain and terror.

_Maker..._

She takes a dragging breath and tries to speak. "M-m... ma v-vhen...an..."

_Oh, Merrill, oh blessed Andraste forgive me!_

"Shh," I whisper, rocking her. "It's alright. I'm so sorry, my heart. You'll be alright, I promise. Don't be afraid. It's just the Fade, you aren't really hurt." _Maker, please let that be true, please let her be alright. Please let it be true. Please, _Andraste forbid, _don't let her wake Tranquil, or never wake at all, please._ My heart is breaking, splintering, shattering within me. I could console myself thinking that without magic Isabela would not have been hurt, and that Anders, possessed as he was by Justice, would have been unharmed when I struck them down, but by Andraste I can't stand this. I don't know enough about what happens when a mage's soul dies in a nightmare, let alone what happens when one is propelled into the Fade like this, not truly dreaming at all. What if the Keeper meant that Feynriel would become Tranquil only because his connection to the fabric of the Fade was so strong, what if a mage who is not a dreamer simply dies? How can this be happening? My own injuries feel just as real here as ones inflicted outside of the Fade, Merrill has to be in so much pain, oh, Maker, I can't stand the thought, I can't stand it...

Merrill trembles, gasping, and I hold her close. "You'll wake up in Arianni's home, whole and unhurt. There's nothing to be afraid of, love. Let go." I cup her cheek and kiss her temple, trying to keep my voice steady and reassuring. "Let go, and you'll wake up, and I'll be with you again soon, I promise."

The light in Merrill's eyes fades, and they flutter closed. Her body falls lifeless in my arms and disappears, leaving me alone, shattered and broken in a pool of ephemeral blood.

* * *

><p>xxx M xxx<p>

* * *

><p>"Merrill!"<p>

I gasp and bolt upright, clutching at my throat, feeling the skin smooth and unbroken beneath my fingers as the Keeper holds me against her. "Shh, da'len, it's alright," she murmurs softly, rubbing my back. "Breathe, child. You are out of the Beyond. You are safe." She holds me as my breathing returns to normal, as I get control of myself again. Or try to. Creators... Creators forgive me, I gave in. I let a demon take me, let it turn me against Hawke, oh merciful gods! I tried to kill her, I... I forced her to kill me and I left her all alone, oh _Mythal..._

"Your friend Isabela woke several minutes ago," Marethari tells me softly. "The other, Anders, woke some time before. He seemed angry and left very quickly. Is Hawke alright? Did you find Feynriel? What has happened, da'len?"

I don't answer, what can I say? I can't bear to tell her what happened, that I... Mythal forgive me, that I fell to a demon, that because of my weakness I betrayed my heart, my _soul,_ and may even have cost Feynriel his life if Hawke can't save him alone...

_Hawke..._

I turn to Hawke, her body still lying on the furs beside me, and my heart rips at the tracks of tears on her cheeks, the pain in her expression as she sleeps. _Creators, what have I done?_

"Merrill!" Isabela's surprised voice rings out behind me as she enters the bedroom, carrying a small cup of water which she hands to the Keeper, who dampens a cloth with its contents and dabs soothingly at Hawke's face with the cool wet rag. Isabela crouches beside me, and I look at her miserably as she gazes back at me in concern. "Hawke isn't awake yet? What happened?" she asks. She smiles crookedly, a look of remorse and shame stealing into her eyes. "A bloody demon tricked you too, did it?"

I hear the Keeper let out a slow, controlled breath, see the look of badly disguised sorrow and disappointment in her face as she looks between us both. "No one is immune to a demon's offer," she says. She catches my eyes. "Remember this, Merrill."

I hang my head, ashamed, only feeling worse as I watch Hawke feebly clutching at her ribs and shoulder, knowing she must be in a great deal of pain in the Beyond to feel an echo of her wounds here in the waking world. Her breathing is laboured with the effort of keeping herself in the dream, still fighting to rescue Feynriel's soul.

_Oh, Creators, let her find him. Let them both wake safely._

_And please let her forgive-... no. No, I won't ask that she will forgive me. I don't deserve her forgiveness. I don't. _

_Just please... please... let her be alright._

* * *

><p>xxx H xxx<p>

* * *

><p>"Feynriel."<p>

The elf-blooded boy turns at the sound of my voice as I make my way slowly down the steps into the Templar Hall courtyard, where he stands before the lowered portcullis. I stop a few paces from him, pushing away my own fears and concerns as I examine him closely. He seems whole, and calm. I don't sense the influence of any more demons about him. "Are you alright?"

Feynriel blinks, considering the question for a moment. "I'm not sure if this is real," he says softly, and raises troubled golden-brown eyes to my face. "If so, it is the second time I owe you my life. You helped me see the demons for what they were, helped me get away from them. Thank you." He looks around himself slowly, voice filing with quiet wonder. "The Fade feels different now. I see the stitches, the seams holding it together. I feel I could wake at any moment."

Good. Then this nightmare will be over at last. But I can't let him go without making him realise what he is, what power he asserts over this place. Why the demons want him more than any other mage who sets foot here, and the danger he is in should he be unable to protect himself from them. "The Keeper has told you that you are somniari? A Dreamer?" I ask, and he nods slowly. "That is why the demons desire you so much, why they plague your dreams so relentlessly," I explain seriously. "Dreamers control the Fade and the dreams of people in it. You must master your power."

Feynriel's eyes widen as he takes this information in. "I see why the Chantry fears us. I've heard tales of magisters who stalked their enemies and used their own dreams to destroy them." He gives me a determined look. "You're right. I must master it, find someone to study under. The Dalish do not have what I need." It appears they certainly don't, but I have no advice to offer; I know nothing of Dreamers. Feynriel thinks for a moment. "Perhaps Tevinter," he says slowly, a twist of distaste to his mouth. Understandably. "I would never have considered going to such a place, but if these powers can be trained, it would be there." He sighs a little, looking at me questioningly. "I see no other choice. My mother would certainly not look kindly on such a journey, but I have to go. Can you give her my farewell?"

"I will," I agree. Ordinarily I would argue that he should speak to his mother himself, but... Maker forgive me, now that I know he is safe, I just want to leave this place and see if the same holds true for my companions... especially Merrill. _Elven Creators, keep her safe, you hear me?_ "May the Maker guide your path, Feynriel. Now, if you don't mind, do you think you could wake yourself up so that we can both get out of here?"

"I... I think so." Feynriel turns, filling his hands with power and reaching out to touch the invisible edges of the dream. "Yes, I see what to do now. I can do this." He glances over his shoulder as the Fade world recedes. "Goodbye, Hawke. And thank you."

* * *

><p>xxx M xxx<p>

* * *

><p>Hawke begins to stir, making soft sounds as her eyelids flutter. She is waking at last.<p>

Marethari places a hand gently on her forehead. "Her spirit is returning," she says to the rest of us, and glances at Arianni, waiting anxiously in the corner. "I can feel Feynriel's soul returning to his body as well."

Arianni breathes out hopefully. "She saved him?"

"We shall see," the Keeper replies. "But it seems that Hawke has been successful, despite everything."

Her words are calm enough and she does not look at me, but the disappointment is clear in her tone, her voice edged heavily with displeasure. Suddenly I can't bear to be in the room any longer. I can't bear Marethari's disapproval, can't bear to face Hawke when she wakes, I just...

I _can't..._

I scramble to my feet and run, hearing the Keeper call for me but not listening, not looking back, dodging Isabela's arm when she tries to catch me, to stop me and comfort me most likely, but I don't deserve it and I don't look back.

I throw open Arianni's door and run out into the night.

* * *

><p>xxx H xxx<p>

* * *

><p>"Feynriel is leaving," I tell Arianni, pushing down the flash of remorse I feel as the hopeful happiness in her eyes is replaced by fear and anxiety. I try to explain his reasons, ignoring the small voice inside that admonishes me for not convincing Feynriel to say goodbye in person. "He must go elsewhere to train. There is no one in Kirkwall to help him. He asked me to say goodbye."<p>

"My son!" Arianni cries, eyes brightening with distressed tears. "No! I must find him before he goes."

"It is wise for him to seek guidance," Marethari tells her soothingly. "Kirkwall cannot provide what he needs. The important thing is that he is alive, and safe."

Arianni stares at her for a moment, and then nods in acceptance. "Yes of course, you're right. But if I hurry, perhaps I can still say goodbye. May I come with you to the Sunderlands?"

Marethari nods warmly. "Of course." Arianni hurries off to prepare for the road, and the Keeper looks at me, something like wonder in her eyes. "I truly did not think what you did was possible. You are a rare human, indeed. You accomplished a miracle with Feynriel." She turns to the table behind her to fetch something from her pack. "As thanks, I give you the tome where I found this ritual. It should prove valuable to your own studies of magic. This book belonged to the last dreamer of our tribe. It has a rare magic beyond price. Please accept it with my gratitude." I take it from her automatically with a nod, barely registering her thanks. My mind is not entirely in the moment. I woke alone, I don't know where Anders and Isabela are; I haven't seen them, and Merrill... she was right beside me. Andraste, are they alright? Where are they?

As if in answer to my thoughts, Isabela appears in the doorway and gives me a weak grin. "Does this mean I'm not getting my ship? Bugger it all!" the pirate queen says in a frail attempt at jocularity. "At least we all escaped unscathed, though." She sees my expression, and her shoulders drop a little, a look of shame coming over her face. "Hawke, look, I'm..."

Her voice tails away, the word 'sorry' remaining unspoken, but I'm not concerned with her betrayal or attempted apologies, it doesn't matter to me in the least, not now. I only want to know about Merrill. She said we all escaped, so she, Anders and Merrill must have returned to their bodies, and the Keeper would certainly be distressed if anything had befallen Merrill, like Tranquillity, or... anything. But if she's alright, then where is she, why isn't she here? Maker's breath, it's not enough to know she's physically unharmed, I need to see her for myself, I need to hold her, touch her...

"It's fine, Isabela, but where is Merrill?" I ask, near stumbling over my words in my haste. "Tell me she's alright!"

"She's alright, Hawke, but she's gone. I don't know why. She seemed upset when she woke, and ran off as you were coming to."

"Where did she go?"

Isabela shrugs her shoulders helplessly. "I don't know, I didn't follow her, I wanted to wait until you woke. But she can't have gone far, it's only been a few minutes. How many options are there? Your place, hers?" She fixes me in a piercing gaze, looking worried. "Why did she wake before you? Was it a demon? What happened to make her so upset-?"

I shake my head and brush her questions aside, unwilling to speak of what happened within the Keeper's hearing. "It doesn't matter, it's over now. I just... I have to go and see her." I glance at Marethari and Arianni, still busily preparing to leave for Sundermount. "Please excuse me, I must go."

They nod in farewell, and I turn to leave.

Isabela follows me into the alienage. "Looks like she didn't go far after all," she says, nodding in the direction of Merrill's house. I follow her gaze, noting no firelight in the small window, but the front door is slightly ajar, as though closed carelessly and in haste. "I'll leave you to comfort her, Hawke," she says as she walks towards the alienage stairs, obviously keen to make a quick exit and distance herself from the evening's events. I don't blame her. "After all that, I need the privacy of my own rooms and the company of a good bottle of rum. Or two."

I watch her leave and then make my way quickly across the square to Merrill's little house. I can't imagine how she's feeling right now, but I'm torn between two irrational fears; that she will be angry with me for hurting her, for not finding another way; or that she will blame herself for being overwhelmed and subsumed by that immensely powerful and influential demon in its own realm. I know which is the more likely. Above all else, I need to know she's alright. I need to comfort her. For my own sake almost as much as for hers.

* * *

><p>xxx M xxx<p>

* * *

><p>"I...I can't believe I turned on you. With the demon, in the Fade...I'm so sorry. I'll understand if you can't forgive me."<p>

She stands in the doorway to the bedroom, wide-eyed and silent as I sit despondently on my narrow bed, back in my old house where I fled after waking up; the Keeper's disappointed frown chasing me out the door. I heard her call for me, but I just couldn't face her anymore, knowing that she realised I had succumbed to a demon's call. And... I couldn't face Hawke after what I did... what I forced her to do to me...

And now she's here. I suppose I didn't exactly hide myself very well. Perhaps I wanted her to find me, to be disappointed with me, angry with me, hate me, even. That would punish me for what I've done like nothing else. Nothing else except knowing that I've hurt her so badly. Mythal, knowing that I hurt her wounds me more deeply than any pain I've ever felt...

I stare down at my feet, not daring to lift my head. I can feel Hawke's gaze on me, but I can't bring myself to look at her, to see the sadness in her eyes, or the hurt, or anger, or maybe even the fear that must surely be there. I knew I would only put her in danger, and now I nearly murder her in the Fade. We could have lost Feynriel. I could have made her Tranquil, or killed her for all we knew! I could have_ killed_ her! I can't bear it... I bend forward over my knees, lowering my face into my hands in shame and misery, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a wretched sob. _Creators, how did this happen? Why was I so weak?_

I hear her move; is she leaving? I can hardly blame her after what I've done.

But... no, her footsteps are moving toward me, not away...

Suddenly I feel her sit close beside me on the bed. I flinch away from her warmth, the warmth and love and comfort I don't deserve, or I try to anyway, but she doesn't let me. "Oh, Merrill. Merrill, come here." She pulls me to her and wraps her arms around me tightly, one hand burying itself in my hair and pulling my head down to rest on her shoulder, ignoring my half-hearted attempts to pull away, to deny myself what I don't deserve. "Blessed Andraste, I'm just so relieved you're alright. You had me so worried when I woke, and you weren't there. I was terrified that I had hurt you, or..." Her voice trails away with a quaver.

She... she was afraid that_ she_ hurt _me?_ When I was the one who... who... oh, Mythal forgive me... I draw a deep, shaking breath, clinging to her fiercely. "I'm sorry, Hawke, I'm sorry, I never wanted to... to... I never meant... oh, Hawke, I couldn't stop!" I give a heaving sob, and her arms tighten about me in response. "I'm so _sorry_..."

"Shh, it doesn't matter, my love," she whispers, rocking me gently. "I'm not hurt, it's alright."

I feel her kiss the top of my head and I close my eyes, feeling utterly worthless and ashamed. "I told you I would bring you pain. I told you I was too dangerous to be around," I whisper, feeling utterly devoid of hope and happiness. "I can't help it. I was so afraid I would hurt you, and I did! I hurt you so badly! I didn't mean to, I would never, _never_ mean to hurt you, Hawke, but I just can't seem to prevent it. I should have been strong enough to lie and tell you I wanted you to leave me alone. You should have just let me go and forgotten me. You should have found someone else to make you happy-"

"Merrill, hush," Hawke forestalls me quietly. "Hush. Stop this. I don't want anyone else. _You_ make me happy, love. Happier than I ever thought I could be, in a way that no one else ever has, or ever could. And I could never have let you go, no matter what I said. If you had told me you wanted me to leave you alone, I would have respected your wishes, but I could never have forgotten you. It was far too late for me, even then. I love you too much." She breathes in deeply, wrapping me tightly in her arms as though afraid I will try to flee, to run from her words and the love I don't deserve. "Merrill, listen to me please. I need to say this to you, and you need to hear it, for my sake if not for your own. When I met you, I wasn't looking for love, I didn't expect it. I didn't choose to fall in love with you; it just happened, and it grew as I got to know you, stronger every day because of how utterly _wonderful_ you are. Choice had nothing to do with it. The heart wants what it wants, and no one can choose who it will pick. The only thing you can decide is whether you will acknowledge it, take a chance and let yourself love the one your heart decides is worthy." She lifts my chin gently with a finger and gazes deeply into my eyes. "And you are, my heart. You are so worthy, and wonderful, and you are so, _so_ loved. And that will never, ever change; no matter what. Don't you forget it. None of this was your fault, alright? I need you to believe that."

"How can you forgive me so easily?" I cry softly, hiding my face in the warm curve of her throat. "I tried to kill you! You could b-be dead right now, or tranquil. You were hurt all b-because of my weakness, my _stupidity_!"

"You could be tranquil, too, or... or dead by my hand." I give a dry sob at the pain in her words, and feel her hold on me tighten comfortingly. "But you're not. Because you're stronger than that. And I'm sure I would have been fine too, if you'd managed to kill- if things had gone differently. It's alright now, Merrill," Hawke repeats, stroking my cheek, and presses her lips gently to my head again before unexpectedly giving a light laugh and smoothing her hand over my hair. "Besides, let's not forget that Anders tried to kill me because Justice apparently doesn't understand the concept of 'playing along'. And Isabela tried to kill me because a rat-tailed demon with goat horns and big breasts said she might give her a boat. At least you were tempted by something as noble and selfless as the salvation of your entire people."

But I would never, _never_ intentionally sacrifice Hawke for a demon's deal. Not under my own will, my own choice, my own power, no matter what the demon made me say to her in the Fade. I need her to understand that, need to tell her, even though she has not asked for an explanation. I pull away from her embrace and grasp her hands, staring into her eyes.

"I didn't mean what I said in the Fade; that I cannot put you before my people's fate. No matter how much I wish to restore our history, I would never give your life to do it, never, Hawke. I don't know what made me say such a thing." I speak quickly, anxiously, desperate to explain myself to her. "It... it felt like...everything the demon said reached out and pulled at my heart. It seemed to be the only thing that had ever made any sense, seemed to be undeniably right. I believed everything it said so completely from the moment it looked at me to the moment you... you..."

My voice fails me as I look into her eyes, remembering. Her azure gaze ensnares mine, piercing my soul. She is silent, waiting patiently, her face expressionless. I feel my throat tighten painfully, recalling the tears that ran down her face as she was forced to strike me down and I feel my own eyes well at the grief and pain I caused her. "I didn't want to believe it, but I just... had to. I knew not to trust, and I don't know why I did. I've been so careful with all my dealings with spirits until now. I should have recognised I was being manipulated. To make such an obvious mistake..." The tears run freely down my cheeks now, and my words falter and die on my lips as I hang my head. How easily the demon turned me. It couldn't even touch her, couldn't turn her, couldn't tempt her even for a moment. She's too pure, too good, and I'm just... I am nothing compared to her, _nothing_, I'm ... I'm...

I'm...

Hawke slips gracefully off the bed and kneels in front of me, her hands still entwined with mine in my lap. She presses my fingers firmly with her own as she looks up at me, her sapphire eyes capturing mine with such intensity I suddenly find it hard to breathe.

"Listen to me. It wasn't you," she says, voice soft but fervent. "You didn't betray me. The demon made you do it; it was in your head, twisting your thoughts. I understand what it's like to be under the influence of such beings." Her eyes are wide with utter sincerity as she gazes into my soul. Creators, I fall to a demon and try to kill the love of my life, and yet somehow she's the one pleading on her knees. I don't deserve her. I don't.

"You are too forgiving-" I try to say, but she stops me by reaching up quickly and drawing my head gently down, pressing her lips passionately against mine, firmly silencing my protests and I melt into her kiss, gods forgive me, I can't help it.

She smiles at me wickedly when the kiss ends at last, and her hands glide over my legs, under my tunic, sliding teasingly over the bare skin of my thighs. "Don't you know the meaning of irrevocable, unconditional love, ma sa'lath?" she says, and I gasp as she tightens her grip a little, fingers kneading and stroking me beneath my clothes. "I guess I will have to explain it to you. Better yet," she breathes as she leans forward for another ravenous kiss, "how about a practical demonstration?"

_If I live to be a thousand, I'll never do enough to deserve her,_ I think, smiling as she gently pushes me back onto the bed, her fingers soft on my skin, mouth warm on my throat. Her kisses move lower, her hands fumbling at my belt and then my clothing, and I close my eyes against the tears that threaten to spill from them; this time tears of gratitude, joy, wonder, love. _I will try, emma lath, ma vhenan, emma vhenan'ara. __My kindred soul._

_I will try to be worthy of you one day._

* * *

><p><em>Right then, there you go, guys, hope you enjoyed it. I do try. <em>

_Oh, by the way, just another little side note because I'm very paranoid about plagiarism and I've been well trained from uni to reference things; that little story of Hawke's at the beginning isn't really dragon age lore. I adapted it from Aristophanes' Speech from Plato's Symposium. It relates a Greek myth that (as I put in this chapter) is pretty much the same; we were all once two people joined as one being, but the gods got scared so Zeus split everyone into two, and when the two halves find each other, the person who completes them, that's finding your soulmate. I tried not to change the basic story of the myth too much when I fit it to dragon age lore. Whether you believe in the concept of soulmates or not, I just thought that was really nice, and I wanted to include it. Don't read too deeply into it, obviously it doesn't cover all possible combinations of sexuality or sexual fluidity if you know what I mean. Humans are naturally prone to categorise things in order to make sense of the world, despite the fact that some things just can't be categorised. It's just a nice little story, at least I think so._

_I'll try to be quicker about updating, but remember, I do exist in the real world as well, and I have a life to lead. Encouraging me to post is fine, it makes me feel wanted, but well... no more death threats in reviews and PMs, okay? Implied or otherwise. Even as a joke. I do tend to assume they're intended as jokes, but they still make me a little nervous, so maybe refrain? I'm only bringing it up again for emphasis and please don't get me wrong, I can appreciate a good "I'm going to kill you" joke, but in this case it's just like at the airport if you make bomb jokes, because sometimes they're not jokes, and its better safe than sorry. Except instead of being tackled and in all likelihood tazed by overexcited security personnel, you'll just be making a poor little Australian girl too upset and freaked out to write anymore, and that's a karmically punishable offense, you know ;p_

_Okay I probably won't get upset, exactly, just maybe start sleeping with a knife of my own under my pillow, but still. Threats of violence make me very paranoid. I don't like being knifed. Please don't stab me. If you kill me, I'll definitely never finish the story. See? My logic is undeniable._

_Once again, Merry Christmas and a happy new year from maximasdecimas._


	21. Chapter 21

Here, at last, Chapter 21! I'm so sorry it's so reprehensibly late! Life keeps happening; work, little sister's wedding, sickness, seeing Tegan and Sara live (jealous? You should be, they're fantastically awesome!), sickness again, writer's block and frankly, some laziness. But in all honesty I was too busy to write very much at all up until about the end of May. Sorry! I'll try to do better for next time. Enough of my excuses.

Thanks to everyone who left reviews, and favourited and followed, and thank you all very much for not threatening to kill me despite the lengthy wait.

And thanks very much indeed to my beta (or humble proof reader, whatever you wish me to call you) TSLi! You're my favourite, you are ;p. (I still can't see all of your google docs comments for some reason, but I'll adjust the chapter later as needed once I figure out how to see the rest of them, thank you so much for going through this thing for me!)

Also, I should mention this chapter contains spoilers for The Exiled Prince DLC.

Okay, here's the chapter, sorry for any mistakes or if it seems rushed or anything like that. Thanks for reading, sorry about the wait!

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><p>xxx H xxx<p>

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><p>Warm whispers of breath caress my skin and I smile, glancing down as best I can at the small raven-haired head nestled contentedly in the crook of my throat. Merrill sighs, her body shifting slightly against my side, and I curl my arm tighter about her waist, revelling in the feel of her. Despite the cool of the morning air, her skin is pleasantly warm to the touch. My breath catches at the sight of her. Just like always. I can't help but stare at her lovely face, captivated by her fragile, ethereal beauty as she rests against me. She is not sleeping, I can tell from her breathing, though her eyes are closed in blissful serenity. I marvel at the tracing of tiny veins in the soft lavender-dusted skin of her eyelids, delicate natural reflections of the fiercely beautiful markings that trail over her brows and cheekbones. Her pale skin seems to gleam in the half-light cast by the fire, as though hard pressed to contain all the magic within her soul.<p>

Her eyes open a little as I watch and she blinks a few times, slowly, sleepily, tightening her hold on me instinctively as she lets her mind rise to full wakefulness. "Hello, my beautiful Hawke," she murmurs drowsily, her lovely lilt almost turning her words to song. "How are you feeling? Did you get enough rest?"

"Oh yes, love," I answer softly. "Don't you worry about me, I feel quite wonderful, in fact."

She smiles beatifically. "So do I." Well, that is an encouraging answer. I'm pleased to find she is not still guilt-ridden over yesterday's somewhat… tempestuous events. Merrill stretches a little, her small body tautening, and then she relaxes with a sound of satisfaction, burying her head once more in the hollow of my neck. "Do you want to get up now?" she asks softly, the words slightly muffled.

I chuckle at the clear reluctance in her voice. "Not just yet." I could spend all day like this in fact. Even though this bed is rather small and uncomfortable… I smile a little, shaking my head at myself internally. It wasn't all that long ago that I was sleeping every night on a bed not unlike this one in my uncle's house, only far more uncomfortable and stacked three high, with Mother sleeping on the pallet below and Carver snoring away above my head. Not to mention the quality of the bedding, or lack thereof. Maker above, just thinking about those lumpy, scratchy straw mattresses and thin, stiff, ragged excuses for blankets makes me feel itchy. But to be honest, I can't say truly that our way of life in Ferelden was always that much better than in Gamlen's house, living on the run as we did. Until Lothering of course. Still, cosy as it was, our home there was hardly luxurious. I daresay I've become rather used to a different quality of after living in Hightown, reluctantly rubbing shoulders with the Kirkwall elite. Andraste, I've been trying so hard not to become like those soft foppish bastards!

"What are you thinking about?" Merrill's soft voice breaks into my thoughts. I glance down to find her looking up at me with bright eyes and a small fond smile, head tilted curiously to one side.

"Oh, I was just chastising myself internally for missing our bed in Hightown," I smile wryly, and somewhat apologetically, as I reply. "And for letting myself become as pampered as a bloody entitled poncy nug-licker."

"Ma vhenan, you are anything but," my sweet little elf contradicts me firmly. She wriggles a little on the hard mattress. "I admit, I'm missing it quite a bit too. But I think the fact that we're using it at all speaks volumes, doesn't it? If either of us were really spoiled, we wouldn't be lying here at all. But we're far tougher than that. At least I think so."

"Mm," I agree. "Perhaps some of our dear neighbours ought to get outdoors more often, find out what living in the real world is like. The ground is far more character-building than any bed, and most of them could use a bit more personality."

Merrill chuckles softly. "You sounded very much like Tamlen just now. He always said much the same thing about everyone living in shemlen towns and cities. Only in a much more scornful tone."

My mouth quirks in a half grin. "I'm inclined to agree with him. I don't care much for city life myself. If we didn't go out to the mountains or the coast so often, I think I might go insane. I'd miss the trees and the open countryside far too much." A thought strikes me. "Perhaps it's no wonder we've run into so many lunatics in our relatively short time here in Kirkwall, if most of the citizens hardly venture beyond its walls. I can't imagine living in a city like this for my whole life." Merrill nods silently in fervent agreement, as I knew she would. Hard as I find it to live without the freedom of the open fields and rugged woodlands, for Merrill it must be far stranger. She'd never even so much as set foot in a human settlement before coming to Kirkwall, let alone one the size of Kirkwall. "Surely it's enough to drive anyone mad. Or at least help them down the road to insanity."

"Cabin fever, Isabela would call it. When everyone on board a ship gets tired of being confined to such a small space, sometimes they can go a little... funny. That's what she told me," Merrill muses to herself in a dreamily distracted manner, and a frown enters her voice. "Although I suppose it's called something else in a city."

"I daresay the term still applies, albeit loosely." I'm still not overly pleased that I even noticed how uncomfortable the bed is. The Fereldan commoner in me is deeply ashamed of this new Hawke, the 'scion of the Amells', as I hate to be called. Perhaps I ought to address this matter before it escalates further and I become as soft and spoiled as a bloody noble. I shift a little to find a more comfortable position, eyes half close as I drift in thoughtful contemplation. I should do something fun, something rugged, active, adventurous. Something... outdoorsy. A journey somewhere, perhaps. Anywhere. Perhaps out to Sundermount or the Wounded Coast. Or farther, even! On foot, naturally. Striking camp come nightfall. Bedrolls. Campfires. Stars. Disgruntled companions with conflicting personalities whom I drag along to keep me company. Yes. Something like that would be a marvellous change of pace from being cooped up in this city all the damn time.

We lie in peaceful quiet for a few moments more, and then I sigh, disentangling myself reluctantly from Merrill's slender frame and slipping out of bed. She gives a small, playful whine of protest as I rise, and I smile fondly, ruffling her tousled hair in a rush of deep affection. "It's past time to be up, beautiful," I say. "I thought I'd make us some tea. Would you like to freshen up?"

She nods somewhat distractedly, letting her gaze run over my unclothed form. "Mm." I wiggle my fingers before her eyes and she blinks, raising them to my face with a smile and a faint blush. "Alright, ma vhenan."

The splintery wooden bed frame creaks as she springs up lithely and makes her way down the narrow hall to her tiny washroom. I watch her go appreciatively, and then move to the hearth, stacking logs and kindling into the fireplace as I listen to the faint noises of Merrill washing in the next room. I reach for her flint and tinder and strike sparks into the fireplace, blowing gently to coax the flames to life. I could light it myself with little more than a drop of mana of course, but Father always encouraged me away from using my gift too often for such mundane tasks, even in private. Not just to get in the habit of guarding my secret from anyone who might think to earn a few coins from the mage-hunters, but because Father believed very strongly that magic ought not to be used as a crutch, nor should it be used idly. "My magic will serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base," he used to say. I very much appreciate that Merrill acts in the same way, as indeed all Dalish mages do, so she tells me.

The kettle by the fire has enough water in it for two cups, I judge, which saves me from fetching more from the well in the square. I swing the kettle over the flames to boil just as Merrill emerges from her bedroom, fully clothed in a pair of tight tan breeches and a soft white shirt. Maker, she's beautiful.

"That look works on you," I tell her admiringly.

She gives me an amused and very appreciative look. "And I very much like your current outfit too, ma vhenan."

I grin; I am still stark naked. "Cheeky," I murmur, grasping her about the waist and pulling her in for a kiss, releasing her only very reluctantly before heading to the washroom myself.

When I return, comfortably dressed in yesterdays clothes, there are two cups of steaming tea sit on the rough round table by the wall, along with a wooden board with a hunk of bread and some cheese. Merrill, seated with her back to the fire, glances up from the large tome she was reading and smiles. "I went out quickly and bought some breakfast from the market," she says by way of explanation for the food on the table in a house she hasn't lived in for some time. "Nothing compared to anything you would make, obviously, but I wanted to get something for us. I was too hungry to wait."

"And you managed to make it back within the hour?" I ask in mock incredulity, grinning fondly at her to take the sting from my words. "I am very impressed! Soon enough you'll know your way about Kirkwall well enough to give tours."

She laughs, and I take the chair opposite her, wincing a little as I sit, feeling a few odd aches and twinges in my body, particularly centred around my ribs. The lingering legacy of yesterday's battles in the Fade, I suppose. Strange, considering I wasn't physically harmed, exactly. Perhaps I was simply more exhausted then I thought, and my mind hasn't quite let go of the perception that I was injured. "Nothing quite like a nice uncomplicated breakfast to start the day," I comment lightly, trying to disguise my grimace of discomfort.

In vain, of course. Nothing escapes those sharp elven eyes. "What's wrong, Hawke?"

"It's nothing," I try to assure her. "I'm completely fine. Just a little sore, but I'm sure it's just in my head."

Merrill drops her gaze to my torso for a moment before meeting my eyes with a serious expression. "I know how badly you were hurt in the Fade," she says quietly. "Is it that?"

_Damn._ I barely suppress a wry grimace. _My little mind reader. _ "Maybe," I admit slowly. "If so, it's entirely in my head, I promise. You know as well as I that injuries sustained in the Fade shouldn't really harm the physical form. I'm fine." I place a hand on my ribs. "Just _feels_ like it should be a little sore here, but there's nothing wrong with me, really."

Merrill drops her gaze to my hand, and then she moves from her chair and kneels beside me at the table, reaching for the hem of my tunic. "Maybe I can help you, anyway," she murmurs quietly, gently lifting my shirt and baring my ribs to the brisk morning air.

Perhaps she wants to try her hand at healing again. I'd love to give her a lesson, but this time there truly isn't anything physically wrong with me. "It's alright, love," I reassure her. "There's no need to..."

I break off with a gasp of delighted surprise as Merrill's warm lips press against my side. She kisses each exposed rib, glancing up me through her eyelashes as she reaches the last and lifts her head. A small half grin lights her face. "Better, ma vhenan?"

I smile at her sweetness. "Much. I'm all fixed."

"Good." Merrill smiles, then leans forward quickly, hugging me about the middle. "I know you'll tell me it wasn't my fault, what happened in the Fade, but it didn't have to happen. I could have been stronger, and then you wouldn't have gotten so hurt." She smiles wider, looking up at me, and speaks quickly to stop me before I can voice the counter arguments already surging to my lips. "But then, perhaps it wasn't the Fade at all that made you feel so achy this morning. It could have been my small, lumpy bed too." Her green eyes sparkle with mirth. "That sort of humble bedding can be quite uncomfortable for spoiled, pampered noble types."

I laugh at her cheek. "Little minx," I say fondly. "Do you have any idea how wonderful you are?"

"Oh, ma vhenan." Her arms tighten about me. "I will never understand what you see in me," she laughs.

"I understand the feeling," I reply, a touch of wryness in my tone. _Oh, my darling, I wish you could see yourself through my eyes._

Merrill smiles again, sitting back in her chair again. "I am sorry for what happened, though. It was my fault. I should have known what the demon was doing."

"It was a pride demon," I point out carefully, cupping my hands about my teacup to warm them. I don't enjoy continuing this topic, but I feel it needs to be said. "Like Audacity."

"It was," Merrill agrees softly. "It was stronger than him, though."

"Yes," I concede gently. "But now you know what it feels like to be under the sway of a demon. It was strong, so it only needed a few moments to influence you. Audacity is weaker, but it has been in within reach of your mind for far longer." I draw a breath. "Can you be certain it hasn't been manipulating you, little by little, for as long as you have had contact with it?"

Merrill is silent for a moment, gazing at her reflection in her mug. "No," she admits after a moment, softly. "I can't be, not for absolutely certain." She meets my eyes. "But I knew what I was risking when I went to him. And I have been careful. As careful as I can."

"I know," I tell her. "And I still want you to fix the mirror. But... if it turns out there is no other way... I just want you to have it very firmly in your head that Audacity will very, very likely want more from you than just release from his prison. And that the use of blood magic may very well make you more susceptible to him, for all we know. We do know very little about it, after all. Compared to other schools of magic at least."

She nods seriously. "I understand. And... I do appreciate being reminded."

I nod in return. There isn't really anything more to say on the matter. "Alright then. That's all I wanted to lecture you about today."

Merrill giggles softly. "I would still like to try and find another way to fix the eluvian," she says. "Other than blood magic, I mean. And... I promise I won't use it unless I absolutely have to."

I smile. I do feel better, hearing her promise that. "Thank you, my love. I understand your need to do this, but I worry about you."

"I know," Merrill says. "And I love you for it. I love that you understand what I want to do, and that you want so badly to help me. To help my people." She gives me an adoring look. "I never imagined a human would help me restore Dalish history."

I smile. "Well, you know humans," I quip happily, reaching for the bread and cheese. "Always sticking our noses where they have no business being."

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><p>xxx M xxx<p>

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><p><em>Oh, ma vhenan.<em>

I laugh quietly, watching Hawke give me a cheeky grin before she takes a mouthful of the meagre breakfast I managed to scrounge up for her. Hardly comparable to the wonderful meals she cooks for me, but she doesn't mind in the least. I love her for that, among so many other things. "I wish my clan understood what I am trying to do. Or the Keeper, at least."

"When the eluvian is finished and working safely, they'll appreciate all you've done for them," Hawke reassures me, with more confidence than I feel about it myself. _Ah, my sweet Hawke. _I smile at my beautiful human mage, listening fondly to her words of encouragement. She leans forward, blue eyes filled with earnest fervour. "They'll come around. I did, didn't I?"

She did, at that. Eventually, anyway. But even after all those... misunderstandings... she sees how important this is to me, to my people, and she is still so determined to help me.

I draw in a deep breath, part wistfulness, partly in wonder. "No one else ever understood," I murmur, my words wreathed in gratitude. "Not the Keeper, not my clan. Just you."

"I do understand now," Hawke replies with a warm smile. "At least, after you explained it properly and Isabela yelled at me a few times." She tears off another bite of her bread and cheese and turns her head, glancing over her shoulder at the eluvian standing in the corner of my bedroom. "Have you made any progress with that book you found in the Emporium?" she asks around her mouthful, a thoughtful note in her voice as she looks back to me.

"I have managed to study it a little," I answer, and grin at her a little. "Mostly when you've been out. I get too… distracted, otherwise." Hawke laughs, and I continue. "It's quite hard to read, the writing is a bit faded and the dialect is a little different to what I know, but I've been able to make some of it out. It is a book on magic for certain. Not eluvians specifically, but I did find a chapter with passages that mention what I believe is a spell that is supposed to be useful in mending magical objects without further damaging the enchantments placed upon them. I think it would help repair some of the cracks." I pause, and then meet her eyes hopefully. "Can we... can we stay here for a little while this morning and try it? I remember what I'm supposed to do. There's a potion I need to make, but I do still have the necessary ingredients lying about here somewhere, I'm pretty sure. Deep mushroom, and lifestones and such." I wouldn't be at all surprised to find some deep mushrooms growing in the corners, in fact.

She gazes back at me intently, a warm smile curving her lips, no glint of hesitation in her eyes. "Ma nuvenin, ma sa'lath," she says with a cheeky grin, and I smile at her, touched as always by her use of the elven words and endearment.

"Ma serannas, ma vhenan."

"We could bring it back with us when you've finished," she says. "The mirror, I mean. There's plenty of room for it here in the estate, you know. It would be easier than going all the way back down the stairs to Lowtown to work on it all the time."

I hesitate for just a moment before answering her; I know she means it, I do, but... I'm not sure that's really a very good idea. It seems to be alright now, but just in case... I don't want to put her in danger. Or her mother, or Bodahn and Sandal and her dog, for that matter. And Feathers. Oh, Creators know what he would manage to do with it!

"Oh, that's alright, Hawke. It's good exercise after all, coming down here. And I'd rather leave it there, at least until I can be sure it's safe. It's a good enough workspace, anyway," I tell her. She frowns a little, looking unconvinced, and opens her mouth as though to speak but I don't want to argue about it. I know she wants to help me, but... I really think it ought to be kept away from her house, at least for the moment. "Besides, I'd rather not risk trying to haul it up all those stairs, even with help," I say quickly, my voice filled with fretful anxiety. I don't even have to feign it; just the thought of what could happen to it, trying to drag it all the way up to Hightown... "If it got broken... I don't know how I would handle it." There. She can't really argue with that, can she?

"Fair point," she says, nodding quickly in reassurance. She smiles at me. "But the offer always stands, should you change your mind. And... I will speak to the hahren about seeing that nobody disturbs your house, I'll offer him whatever rent he thinks is fair. Double it, even. Maybe I'll fix it up a bit, too, get you a door that locks properly for starters. And perhaps I could help with a bit with the rest of the alienage while I'm at it."

Elgar'nan! Even after the behaviour she has witnessed here? "You would do that? You've hardly had a welcome reception when you've come here before. Most of what you've seen of the way of life here is... less than noble."

"Like those two louts who accosted you, you mean? Because one never sees a human getting blind drunk to escape his problems and acting the fool," Hawke says, a sardonic smile on her lips. "The only difference between the drunken human oafs and the elven ones is the cheapness of the ale. And the pointiness of their ears. Of course, they wouldn't have reason to behave that way, if there were better conditions here in the alienage. They wouldn't be driven to drink to forget their sorrows if they didn't have so many." Hawke rises, and begins walking slowly back and forth before the fire, voicing her thoughts as she paces. "Maybe I could do something? Find a way to make more jobs for elven workers, perhaps. Or I could... I could start a fund. To help with the upkeep of the alienage and to assist families of those who can't find enough work." She stops pacing and turns to me, excitement plain on her face, replaced quickly by concern. "Do you think they would accept something like that from me?"

"I... don't know," I say, touched by her offer. "That would be a wonderful thing to do, Hawke. They would probably be quite sensitive about it though. Prideful. Perhaps you should speak to the hahren about it first."

She nods. "I'll do that, then," she says, her eyes determined. "Maybe it might help if I offer to remain anonymous, just as long as I can do something."

I gaze at her in silence for a moment. Creators, I truly don't know what I did to deserve such a person in my life, let alone returning my love. I must have done something incredibly good and just not even have realised it. "You are wonderful, Hawke. You do so much good for everyone. And you absolutely _spoil _me."

She shrugs, looking a little bashful. "Well, you deserve it. You're still used to offering more to others than you ever receive yourself. I'm going to change that." She glances at the mirror again. "I'd like to come with you when you work on it, if you don't mind. Just in case. I'd feel better."

She'd feel better feeling that she could keep me safe, she means, both from the eluvian and the less amiable alienage dwellers. I can hardly blame her. "I'd like that, Hawke," I tell her, smiling, and then lean across the table a little. "And you know, it might be good for me to keep my house here for another reason besides having a place to work on the mirror."

"What reason is that?" Hawke asks, tilting her head at me.

"As nice as it is when everyone is all together and the house is full of people, it would be nice to have a place for both of us to go and stay, sometimes," I explain. "After Leandra and Bodahn and Sandal have come back. It's been so lovely, you know, you and me by ourselves. I think it would be a good idea if there were somewhere we could go to..." I lower my voice meaningfully, "...be alone... together."

Hawke chuckles. "You make an excellent point, my darling."

I smile at her as I cut some bread and cheese for myself, turning over yesterday's events in my mind. "Were Isabela and Anders alright?" I ask suddenly. I can't believe I didn't ask sooner! I'm sure they're alright or Hawke would have said something, but still. I should have asked.

"They're fine, love. Isabela was a little... rattled, I think, but otherwise just fine." Hawke says, then frowns. "Although I would like to check on Anders. Since Justice was in control of him when he attacked and we... when he left the Fade. I don't know how aware he was of what was happening, I want to make sure he's alright."

"Why don't we check on him?" I suggest. "When we're done here. And Isabela too, since we're not too far from the Hanged Man and all."

"I think that's a good idea," Hawke nods. "Once you've worked on the mirror, we'll go."

I smile at her, and start on my breakfast, eager to try out the spell from the ancient tome on the eluvian. And the sooner I try it, the sooner I can make certain for myself that Anders and Isabela are all right. I hope they don't feel too badly about it. It wasn't Anders' fault exactly, what happened in the Fade, it was because of Justice, but Isabela... well, anyone can fall to a demon's lure. She's probably very guilty and upset about the whole thing, trying to kill me and Hawke and all, just for a ship. Poor Isabela. She must feel terrible! I just hope she will be able to get past it.

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><p>xxx H xxx<p>

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><p>"<em>Aha!<em> Mage and Queen beats Templar and Divine, I win!" Isabela's victorious call rings across the near empty tavern room as I step through the door of the Hanged Man, Merrill at my back. I smile to myself as Isabela lays her cards out on the rough oaken table and grins triumphantly at Fenris, glowering across from her. "Pay up, sourpuss."

Well, if I had any concerns about Isabela spending the night in mournful contemplation of her actions in the Fade, they have now been assuaged. Quite completely.

Fenris narrows his eyes at her in a fearsome green glare, though one corner of his mouth twitches in as much of a smirk as he is able to perform. "You cheated," he accuses dryly.

Isabela raises an eyebrow. "Pirate," she reminds him patiently.

"You seem to have trouble remembering that, broody," Varric grins, reaching up to clap the lanky elf beside him on the shoulder. Fenris merely sighs, pushing a small pile of coins across the table towards the smirking pirate queen.

"Perhaps it's the excess of wine at mid-morning," I hear Sebastian mutter on Isabela's left as Merrill and I approach across the hall. "I've learned the hard way that it is not particularly profitable to mix drink and gambling."

"Nonsense," Isabela scoffs, neatly stacking her winnings. "I've had a healthy six tankards since I got up, and I'm cleaning out the lot of you."

"Got up?" Varric asks wryly, gathering up the discarded cards and shuffling them. "I didn't hear you stumble in. I'd bet my last copper piece that you never went to sleep last night, Rivaini,"

"No," Isabela grins. She takes a swig from her tankard, and lowers it with a sigh of satisfaction, gold eyes twinkling. "But I_ did_ go to bed."

"Not your own, I presume," Fenris drawls.

Isabela shakes her head, grin widening. "I found a lovely soft bed in the Chantry, as a matter of fact." She glances at the former Chantry brother beside her as he takes a measured sip from his own mug. "The sister-initiates there are _so _accommodating. Not at all shy. And surprisingly _knowledgeable_..."

Sebastian coughs and sputters, spraying water across the table, and Varric laughs uproariously. "Oh, look!" he chortles. "Choir boy is going red as a roasted nug!"

"Don't tease him, Varric," Merrill admonishes him gently as we reach their table. She gives a little grin, trying to spare Sebastian's dignity. "Maybe he's just hot in all that armour."

Fenris and Varric turn in their seats, one greeting us with a cheerful grin, the other with a solemn nod. I meet Isabela's eyes across the table, before she glances away, plucking the deck of cards from Varric's grasp and shuffling again with practised professionalism. Perhaps I'm imagining it, but I think I saw a hint of something in her golden gaze, a look of... if not guilt, then apprehension, perhaps.

"Oh, he knows I'm only joking, Daisy," Varric assures her with a smile. "We're all friends here. Right, O Prince of the North?"

"Indeed. If I ever do reclaim my rightful place on the throne of Starkhaven, I would welcome you in my court," Sebastian informs him. "I daresay I will have an opening for a jester."

Varric smirks. "Will I get to wear Andraste's face on my crotch too?"

"Oh, is that who that is?" Merrill asks Sebastian excitedly. "Is that some sort of religious tradition amongst humans? I did always wonder, but I didn't like to ask." She looks at him kindly, apparently mistaking the bemused expression on his face for discomfort. "You don't have to wear so much armour all the time, you know. It looks very nice of course, and it's very shiny! But I'm sure you'll be safe from those assassi-… um… that is, I'm sure you'll be safe while you're with us."

Sebastian smiles at her careful attempts not to mention the murder of his family. "Unless of course Hawke pulls me into one of her perilous adventures," he replies with gentle humour. "Still, it is far better to stay safe than to suffer sorrow, as my grandfather used to say. But I thank you for your concern. I am quite comfortable."

"Have you learned anything more about who wanted to harm your family?" I ask him, rather more bluntly than Merrill tried to be, I know, but I doubt he'll take offense. Not if I can help him. Which I have no doubt I will end up doing at some point or another.

Sebastian's expression hardens a little. He nods. "I have. I was hoping to meet you here in fact. You were not at your home, and I thought I would have a better chance of seeing you here than in the Chantry if I waited. If you have some time, I'd like to talk..." His voice trails off somewhat cautiously, and he glances about, clearly uneasy discussing such delicate matters in the middle of a public place filled with strangers. "Perhaps we should step outside? I don't wish to be overheard."

I shake my head once, clapping a hand on his shoulder and motioning him over to the bar counter a few paces behind us where Corff the bartender stands, idly chatting with a customer. "Why don't we just move over here," I suggest. At his quizzical look, I explain quietly; "The more people around, the less chance of being overheard."

"Hawke's right, Choir boy," Varric butts in cheerfully. "The more noise, the harder it is for anyone to eavesdrop on private conversations."

Sebastian raises a dubious eyebrow at the eavesdropping dwarf, and I chuckle. "Oh, Varric's the exception to the rule, naturally. He's had more practise."

"Hawke said sarcastically," Varric quips.

My eyes roll of their own accord and I glance at him. "You know I hate it when you do that."

Varric grins. "Hawke muttered in an angry aside to the dwarf."

Sebastian clears his throat pointedly. "If you two have a moment...?"

"Off you go then," Isabela says, making shooing motions at Sebastian and me with a careless hand. She grins at Merrill. "Why don't you sit in, sweet thing? Take our illustrious Prince's place."

Merrill blinks in surprise, and smiles. "Oh! Alright," she says brightly. "If it's alright with you, Sebastian."

He rises and waves her into his seat with a gallant bow. "Be my guest, my lady. I think I've lost enough for one day, anyway."

"Let's just start a new game then," Isabela suggests, dealing one card to each place at the table. "Highest card deals first. Do you remember the value of each card, Merrill? And what the different pairs are worth together?"

Merrill frowns at the card Isabela hands her. "I think so..." She settles in beside Isabela, laying her card face up on the table. "A King is high, right?"

"Right, Daisy," Varric tells her, laying his own card down. "But not quite as high as a Queen."

"How appropriate," Isabela quips happily. "Fenris?"

"Templar," he says with a grimace, tossing his low card onto the table surface.

Isabela smiles, dropping her own card down and then gathering up the deck to deal. "And Mage beats all. Don't worry, kitten," she says reassuringly as Merrill looks at her with an expression of open trust. "You'll be fine. Just a nice, friendly game of Diamondback..."

I try to shoot Isabela a nice, friendly glare of warning, but she is already absorbed in the game, her back to me again. Not that I think she'd take advantage of Merrill's inexperience - Maker, that doesn't sound right - but she does tend to get a little carried away with the thrill of winning. Well, I'll just have try not to be long. And to keep an eye or an ear on the game, if possible.

We leave the table and cross to the bar. Sebastian rests his hands on its worn, time-polished surface as I lean casually against the counter and signal Corff for a tankard. "I had thought it would end here," he murmurs quietly. He looks at me, a strained look in his eyes. " Three years ago, you decimated Flint Company. No survivors. I was, and am, grateful to you for that, yet... now that I know who sent them, it's harder to see their deaths as justice."

I meet his gaze attentively. "You've learned who hired Flint Company, then?"

"The Harimanns," Sebastian answers, nodding. "A noble family of Kirkwall. They were my parents' allies. It's hard to believe they betrayed us like this."

I frown, letting my gaze roam across the room as my thoughts drift for a moment. The name is very familiar. "I think I've met Lord Harimann..."

Yes, I remember. Harimann. A tall, imposing man, eyes filled with quiet strength. He had confidence bordering on arrogance, yet spoke with a polite, and measured tone of voice, even when speaking to a Lowtown mercenary hireling - myself - in full knowledge that I had been hired to kill him. A Kirkwall noble who went out of his way to press the Viscount for aid to Fereldans affected by the blight. A good man. I never would have taken that job in the first place if I'd known why he was wanted dead. Meeran was livid with fury when I refused to kill the man.

A memory rises, three years long since cold, showing as clearly in my head as the day I lived it...

_He folds his arms in a display of ill-concealed ire, standing with a few of his men in the poorest lit corner of the alley behind the Hanged Man, starless darkness crowding oppressively above. One foot taps impatiently. Varric, Aveline and Fenris walk silently at my back as I approach him slowly, reluctantly, not out of fear but with a sense of extreme distaste at the thought of placing myself willingly anywhere near the brute, something I had wanted never to do again after I left his service. Only the desperate need for coin to fund the Deep Roads expedition could have made me return here, and yet I may as well have left it well alone. I fervently wish I had never taken this rotten job in the first place._

_The foul man lets his lecherous gaze slide openly down my body as I draw near him, lingering obviously on my chest. Maker, I wish Merrill were here, if only so I could take comfort from her presence. I am relieved she didn't insist on coming, though. I don't want her exposed to scum like this any more than I can help it. "So," Meeran drawls. "Gustav limped back here, but refuses to speak one word of what happened." He glares at me. "Spit it out, girl. Is Harimann dead or not?"_

_"Not." I gaze back at him evenly. "He's being hunted for aiding my people. I will not kill him." _

_Meeran curls his grizzled lip in disgust, yes narrowing threateningly as he steps forward. I hold my ground as he narrows his eyes, feeling his hot, fetid breath in my face. "I think you forgot the rules, dog-lord," he grinds out, fury burning in his words. "Once you take the job, you do the job. You don't decide if it's right."_

_I stare him down, unflinching, hearing Aveline and Fenris shift behind me uneasily, the unmistakeable sound of a bolt being drawn back, and leather of gloves and gauntlets creaking as grips are tightened on crossbow and sword hilts alike._

_"I will not do it," I reply quietly. "This is not a job I can complete in good conscience. Find someone else or do it yourself."_

_His face twists into a snarl and he brushes past me, signalling for his men to follow him. "I'll not be forgetting this any time soon, little mage girl," he growls over his shoulder. "Me or my men get any trouble from Harimman because you were too weak to slit his throat, you'll see me again. My word on it."_

Meeran and the whole of the Red Iron went to ground after that, hunted by Lord Harimann's forces no doubt. No word of him since, as far as I know. Yet. I suppress a shudder, feeling a powerful ripple of hate for that disgusting feral pig of a man. I would have thought he'd have sought revenge on me long since for messing up his job and bringing the wrath of the Kirkwall elite down on him and his gang. I suppose it's too much to hope that by now someone has stuck a bootknife in his eye.

"Hawke?" Sebastian prompts me quietly. "Are you well?"

I shake my head a little to snap myself back to the present, raising my eyes once more to Sebastian's. "My apologies, I was just... remembering. There was a contract out on Lord Harimann's head several years ago for convincing the Viscount to send aid to Denerim after the blight." I feel my expression harden angrily. "Several Kirkwaller noblemen resented his actions. They wanted to kill him and stop the Viscount from sending any of Kirkwall's coin to Ferelden. I'd recently left a year of indentured servitude to the Red Iron - long story - and their leader came to me with one last job he wanted me to carry out, Harimann's assassination. When Lord Harimann told me he was wanted dead for trying to help my country, I refused to do it, for obvious reasons. I only met him the once, but he left me with the impression that he was a good man."

"He was. Or, he used to be a good man," Sebastian replies, nodding slowly, "but he became rather strange in his dotage. He died some years back, not too long a while after you prevented his assassination, it seems. His daughter took over the family. Lady Johane Harimann. They say she's become quite reclusive of late."

"Any idea why the Harimanns turned on you?"

"Money? Power?" Sebastian replies with a small, dismissive shrug of his shoulders. "It's hard to say. Lady Harimann was always jealous of my family for being royalty when hers were mere nobility. But I can't imagine that pushing her into outright murder."

He shakes his head and falls silent, eyes distant, brooding. Thinking of his family, no doubt. I can't help but feel for him. I've known loss... my father, my sister, my brother... but I still have my mother. And now I have Merrill. Sebastian lost his entire family at once. I can only imagine the loneliness such a blow must still bring him at times. He bows his head and I turn from him a little, intending to give him a few moments to collect himself. A peal of bright, triumphant laughter announces yet another win for the Pirate Queen, and I find my attention drawn inexorable back to the Diamondback game.

"So," Fenris says conversationally to Isabela as they begin the next round. "These slaves you freed..."

Isabela gives a long, weary sigh, glancing at her cards and tossing a few coppers carelessly into the middle of the table. "This again."

"Such an act seems out of character," Fenris comments with a sort of casual doggedness, flicking his eyes over his own hand and dropping a small stack of coins into the pile.

"Temporary insanity," Isabela replies, causing Varric to grin and Merrill to stifle a giggle. "A bout of foul morality. A horrifying fit of decency." She takes a swig from her tankard and looks at Fenris with a shrug, a grin clear in her voice. "What? I got better." She tilts her head at him suspiciously. "You wouldn't be trying to divert my attention from the game by any chance, would you?"

"If that were the case, I wouldn't bother talking to you. All I would need to do to distract you would be to simply dangle something shiny before your avaricious eyes."

"Oh, striking below the belt!" she laughs. "Just where I like it..."

Sebastian breathes in deeply beside me and raises his head, and I turn back to look at him. He gazes at me with a look of renewed purpose, his control fully recovered.

"When I told her of what I learned, the Grand Cleric advised me that I must go carefully, that if I treat the Harimmans like those mercenaries I could start a war," he tells me quietly, picking up where he left off. He gives me a meaningful look. "She is right, but I cannot let this go."

"What do you intend to do?" I ask delicately. "Do you intend to take revenge?"

Sebastian rubs uncomfortably at his jaw, signifying his indecision. "Unless I understand why they did this, any revenge I take will be hollow," he replies softly after a moment. "I must speak with Lady Harimann and find out what drove her to this madness. I do not know what I will do, but I must hear what she has to say for herself. But I am the last of my line. I should not go alone and make myself a target." He hesitates. "Elthina believes that death is never justice, and she will most certainly not approve of what I have to ask you..."

I already know what he is going to ask, of course. "I will go with you," I tell him before he can voice his request. "If I'm standing beside you, that should make her think twice."

"Again, your interest in my plight humbles me," the heir to the Starkhaven throne says, flashing me a small but grateful smile as he clasps my hand. "Thank you, Hawke. Having you by my side will stay anyone's hand." He gives me a respectful nod. "When you confront Lady Harimann, you can find me at the Chantry. When do you suppose you might have some time?"

I consider briefly before I reply. "Today, actually, if you're ready." Sebastian's eyes light, and he nods again in confirmation. "I need to make a short trip to Darktown first," I warn him. "If you wouldn't mind tagging along for an hour or so, we can pay Lady Harimann a visit after my business there is done." Might as well help him today, since he's here and all. And I would much rather not visit the Chantry unless absolutely necessary, frankly. Far too many women in pretentious high-collared robes offering me the Maker's blessing, or what have you. Not being at all religious myself, I do prefer to keep a healthy distance between me and the devout, although that is becoming more difficult of late, with the amount of Chantry sisters roaming the streets, petitioning passersby for alms, or merely standing with quiet judgemental creepiness in shadowed corners, watching all comers as they go about their business...

A memory stirs, and I lean toward Sebastian. "I wanted to ask you," I begin. "I saw a Chantry sister in Lowtown recently, and... well... something about her just seemed a little... odd." I describe the beautiful woman I caught staring at Merrill and I in front of the Hanged Man, her bright red hair, piercing blue eyes, her graceful movement and subtle air of danger. "I caught her staring at me with such a strange expression, it was quite unusual. I wondered if you'd have seen anybody like that in the Chantry. You're there far more often than I." Surely he must have seen her. Someone like that must stick out like a sore thumb among the Chantry population.

The former Chantry brother frowns deeply. "No," he replies. "That description fits no one I have seen amongst the sisters, or even the initiates." He shakes his head. "I'm afraid I cannot help you, though perhaps this sister is a newcomer and I simply have not crossed paths with her yet."

Or perhaps Aveline has been having me watched again. In a friendly, protective manner of course. With no love for the Chantry herself, she certainly wouldn't be above having one of her people impersonate a priest to serve as her eyes and ears in Lowtown. It would certainly explain why the woman moved like a trained fighter. I will have to ask Aveline about that, when next we meet. "No matter," I say, giving Sebastian a reassuring grin. "I'm sure it was nothing, really. Are you ready to accompany me to Darktown?"

He nods, and I beckon him to come with me back to where Merrill, Isabela, Fenris and Varric are still engaged in their game and conversation, Varric dealing a fresh pair of cards around the group.

"I never have affairs with my crew," Isabela is saying as we return to the table. She ignores the cards Varric flicks across to her for the moment, golden eyes burning with mirth as she speaks, apparently talking exclusively to Merrill. "Once they see you naked with your ass in the air, they think they don't have to take orders."

Merrill giggles, and Fenris and Varric exchange amused looks as Isabela ignores her mug of wine and reaches for the bottle. "Men," she scoffs, raising it to her lips and taking a long swig. "You have to be twice as tough to earn half as much respect." She wipes her mouth on her arm, flashing a grin at me as I move to sit on the edge of the bench next to my still-giggling elven love. Sebastian leans against an empty table behind Varric, who examines his cards briefly and sighs, dropping them to the tabletop. "Fold."

I press a quick kiss to Merrill's cheek and she rewards me with a bright, sweet smile, shifting a little to press her leg against mine as she looks back at Isabela. "So did the crew member mutiny? I mean, after..." She hesitates and looks down at her hand, blushing furiously as she distractedly pushes the rest of her coin and a few odds and ends from her pocket into the middle of the table, still searching for words. "After you... um... you know..."

Isabela chuckles, scooping up her cards at last and glancing at them. "Oh, no. I had the offending member removed." She quirks an eyebrow. "That got rid of the attitude."

Varric chokes halfway through a sip of ale, and Fenris clears his throat uncomfortably, avoiding Isabela's eye as he sets his hand face down on the table, folding without a word. Merrill explodes into another fit of giggles, the hand holding her cards dipping and revealing her pair. From the corner of my eye I notice Isabela glance at them for the briefest moment, and then deftly slipping a card from within her forearm bracer and exchanging it with one in her hand. I feel my lips tighten, narrowing my eyes at her over the top of Merrill's head, though I decide not to interfere. Merrill can make her own decisions, she knows Isabela well enough not to be surprised if she cheats her and besides, it isn't like she will lose anything she can't recover. Still, that doesn't mean I have to like it when Isabela plays with my little elf like this. I narrow my eyes a little further.

Isabela gazes back at me innocently, then nudges Merrill."Alright, kitten, let's see your hand."

Merrill lays out her cards on the table. "Templar and Divine. That's pretty high, right?"

"Almost the highest you can get, kitten," Isabela smiles gently, and then places her own pair down. "But not quite as high as Mage and Divine. My hand trumps yours. I win."

Merrill sighs in disappointment, then flashes Isabela a fond smile, shaking her head a little. "Why do you always win at cards?"

Isabela laughs affectionately. "Because I cheat, kitten. You know that."

"Yes, but... you did?" Merrill frowns. "When? I didn't see!"

"That's because you were distracted by my bawdy stories, sweetness. Don't worry, the more you play with me, the better you'll get. Then no one will be able to swindle you." Isabela grins at me, disregarding my less-than-impressed expression. "Although I daresay you'll be better able to afford it now, having access to Hawke's coffers."

"Oh, I wouldn't take Hawke's money to gamble with!" Merrill declares, looking at me earnestly. "Anyway, I don't think I'll be playing again anytime soon. Certainly not with you, Isabela. Not for coin, anyway, or I'll never be able to hold on to it!"

"That seems a sound decision to me," I tell her

"And to me too," Isabela puts in. "There's plenty of other things we can play for besides coin. Clothing, for instance. Or..." She glances at the small pile of winnings in the middle of the table, and stops in her list of amusing things to gamble for, picking up a small carved talisman and holding it up. I recognise it as a charm for good luck, one of the few things Merrill carried away with her from the Sabrae when she left. "This trinket... it's elven, isn't it? From your clan." Merrill nods, and Isabela gives her head a small shake, handing it back to Merrill with a fond smile. "Don't bet anything you're not prepared to lose. Here... have it back."

Merrill takes it from her gratefully, slipping it back into her pocket, and I give Isabela an approving nod, though I keep my expression blank. On the stony side in fact, if I'm honest. I still have yet to discuss the events of yesterday with her yet, of course, and from that ever so slightly uneasy look in her eyes when she glances my way, I think she anticipated our impending... discussion. I don't mind at all making her squirm a little in the meantime. "Well, if you're done with your game, we should be on our way in a minute," I say to Merrill, though my gaze flicks back to Isabela. "Sebastian has discovered who ordered the attack on his family, and I intend to help him out," I explain. "But first, we're going to make a trip to Darktown. To see how Anders is doing after everything that happened yesterday." Watching Isabela's face closely, I could swear I see her dusky skin pale just a little, and I cross my arms. "You know. With the demons. In the Fade."

"I smell a story there," Varric comments, eyes lighting. Fenris, however, glances between me and Isabela and then stands, pulling Varric to his feet after him.

"Perhaps you can press them for details another day, dwarf," he says pointedly, giving me a tactful nod. "Why don't we go to your quarters?"

"What for, broody?" Varric quips merrily. "A romantic rendezvous? Dance lessons?"

"Amusing," Fenris deadpans. "I was hoping you would tell me a little about the blade display on your wall, in fact. Such things interest me. And besides; you know I only dance in private."

"Hah!" Varric guffaws, slapping Fenris on the back as they head for the stairs. "And the broody elf makes a joke! Someone tell the Divine, it's a miracle!"

Merrill looks first at Isabela, then at me, a slight frown on her face. I give her the tiniest of winks, making certain that Isabela can't see me, and Merrill's frown vanishes as she tries very hard not to smile knowingly. "Maybe we should leave you two to talk," she says, then rises from the table and goes to Sebastian. "Why don't we go outside for a bit? It's getting quite stuffy in here."

Sebastian smiles at her, and indicates that she should lead the way out. "After you, my lady."

Merrill smiles at me over her shoulder, and then turns to look up at Sebastian as they weave through the crowded tables towards the tavern door. "So... why _does _your armour have a face... there? Is it really Andraste? Wouldn't she find that upsetting?..."

Isabela watches them leave and sighs, leaving the table and sitting on a bench built around one of the supporting wooden beams holding up the Hanged Man's roof. A very tired-looking Norah comes over to resentfully clean up the mess left behind by the group, smacking a dishevelled man sharply across the back of the head when he tries for a drunken grope as she passes.

The Pirate Queen shifts about in an unusual display of discomfort as I rise from the table and stand over her silently. She looks up at me, an almost imperceptible look of trepidation on her face. "Alright," she says, almost challengingly. "Let me have it."

"'I like big boats, I cannot lie'," I quote in a sarcastic sing-song, and tilt my head at Isabela, making sure to maintain my stern expression. "Really, Isabela?"

Isabela shrugs. "Well, I do. Blighted demon knew it too." She sighs, squirming uncomfortably on her seat like a scolded child. " I'm sorry I abandoned you in the Fade," she grinds out painfully. "That was foolish of me. I mean, I didn't even get the ship in the end."

I keep my face hard and uncompromising as a statue. "So you admit it. You'll betray a friend for a ship."

" Hey! Not just any ship!" Isabela protests defensively. Her eyes take on a faraway look. "It was beautiful. I could see the hard line of the hull, run my hands along the elegant curve of her prow... oh!" She stares wistfully off into the distance for a moment, then shakes herself out of it and returns her gaze to me. "The demon was in my head. Nothing but the ship made sense."

It's quite... interesting, seeing Isabela this contrite. She really must feel badly over what happened. I ought to drop my facade of cold anger and put her out of her misery, but... well, I'm afraid I'm somewhat curious to see how she will react if I continue. Just for a little longer. "I wouldn't have left you," I tell her quietly, adding an edge of disappointment to my tone. Quite convincing, if I do say so myself. "I would have stood by you, Isabela. No matter what the demon offered."

Isabela narrows her eyes a little, her guilt quickly becoming replaced by defensive annoyance. "Oh, so now you're playing the guilt card. That's low."

I know I can't push her much longer, but I simply can't seem to help it. "Well, you betrayed me for an imaginary boat. My feelings are hurt."

"I already said I was sorry. What more do you want?" Isabela says irritably. "Would you like me to clean your privy for a month?"

I lift an eyebrow. Isabela pauses.

"Shit, I really shouldn't have said that."

I leave her in suspense for a moment, then can't keep my face straight anymore and crack a bit of a grin. "I'm only joking Isabela. I forgive you," I reassure her at last. "I don't blame you at all, in fact. I understand what it's like to be under the influence of a demon."

"You... what?" Isabela stares at me, eyes wide in confusion. "What about that angry rant?"

"Oh, that?" I reply happily. "I just wanted to have a bit of fun with you."

Isabela presses her lips together, clearly suppressing a grin of her own. "And that was your idea of fun?"

"I thought it was a fitting punishment. But if you don't agree..." I shrug, giving her a playful wink. "I could always arrange a spanking instead."

"Oh, stop," Isabela laughs. "You're going to make me want to betray you more often. Are you trying to get me to jump into bed with you? Because it's working."

I smile at her warmly. "We're friends. Friends forgive each other."

"Now you're making my insides feel squishy," Isabela says, a smile of her own lighting her face despite herself. She peers at me suspiciously, raising a brow. "You're not going soft on me, are you?"

I click my tongue in mock irritation. "Oh, fine. Have it your way. You've been a bad, bad girl. Go to your room."

Isabela laughs, not budging from her seat. "That's better."

I smile at her. "I don't suppose you feel like coming out with Merrill and Sebastian and I? After we check on Anders, we're going to go and put some entitled murdering nobles in their place," I offer enticingly. "From what I hear, the Harimanns are rolling in wealth. I promise to look the other way if you take anything shiny."

Isabela laughs. "Oh, Hawke, you do know how to charm a girl," she says with a grin, raising a eyebrow in anticipation. She jumps to her feet and slips her arm through mine, practically dragging me to the door. "Count me in."

"Are you going to be warm enough in that?" I joke, gesturing to her sparse garments. "It's getting quite cold out after all. Perhaps a cloak, or a pair of pants...?"

"Oh, shut it, you," my scantily clad friend chuckles, jostling me good-naturedly. "I don't really feel the cold, I have a very warm body. And before you make any jokes about my burning loins," she hurries on, "Don't bother. I've heard them all."

I shut my mouth, but a grin remains on my lips. "Spoilsport."

Isabela laughs again, pushing open the door and pulling me along behind her into the street. "Come on. Let's go and grab kitten and the Chantry Prince and go see the Moody Mage of Darktown."

* * *

><p>xxx M xxx<p>

* * *

><p>"Is that your cat?"<p>

Anders glances - glares, really - up at me from his examination of his patient, eyes flashing in irritation. More notice than he's given any of us since the moment we entered his busy clinic. Obviously he has a lot of patients to deal with this morning, but he could at least have said hello.

I point to the hand-drawn picture of a little cat tacked to the wall above his cluttered desk, captured right in the middle of washing its sleek fur. I wonder who drew it for him? It's really very good. "I think you've mentioned you had a cat before. The one Mahariel gave you, right? The one you had to leave in Amaranthine."

He nods, turning back to the small boy who is pressing a little hand to his stomach with a grimace, and peers into his eyes. "Yes," he replies curtly. "Ser Pounce-a-lot." The little boy he is examining smiles at the name, and Anders gives him a little grin, softening his dour expression a bit.

"Ser" Pounce-a-lot? That really is_ very_ cute! Not the sort of name I'd have expected Anders to give a pet. I would have thought something along the lines of "Justice" or "Knight-biter" or "Templar-disembowler" or something. Certainly not something so... adorable. "Ser Pounce-a-lot," I repeat thoughtfully to myself, liking the feel of the name as I say it. I bite back a smile at the picture the name puts in my mind. To give a cat a knight's title, who ever would have thought of that? "Who knighted him?" I ask playfully.

Anders blinks once and then glances at me again, a look of confusion clouded with suspicion hovering over his features. "Is that a serious question?"

"Did he have a little sword, or just his claws?" I continue, and the little boy laughs, forgetting whatever is paining his stomach for a moment, looking delightedly at me. I'm fighting back a few silly giggles myself. Anders just glowers, of course, but at least he's finally paying attention to one of us. I wink at the small child and stick the fingers of one hand up behind my ear, wiggling them. "I bet he had a dashing cap with a feather in it!"

The boy bursts out into peals of laughter, and I laugh with him at his delight, glad I could distract him from his discomfort for a little. Hawke glances over and grins at me from the other side of the room where she is looking over another patient while Isabela and Sebastian watch. Trying to make herself useful while Anders pretends to be too busy to speak to her. He really must be cross with her. I'm rather hoping I'll annoy him enough that he'll give up and talk to her just to get away from me. I smile back at her, feeling the slightest pull of her magic from across the room as she surreptitiously lets a little healing magic course through the elderly woman she is examining. From what I can tell, the spell Hawke is casting will slowly grow stronger, healing the woman over the next few days so that she will simply believe her sickness is getting better on its own. It's very clever, really. Hawke can't afford to be as open as Anders is about his magical abilities (among the Underground dwellers, at least), being so much in the eye of the authorities as she is, but there are some things she can do to ease some lesser ailments without raising suspicion. Not that Anders has even bothered to notice, the great lump.

Anders gives me an annoyed look as his small patient's giggles die down to a cute little chuckle every few moments. "Would you stop making fun of my cat?" he snaps.

I frown in pretend disappointment. "Oh... no hat, then?"

"No," Anders grunts shortly, then looks back at the little boy and places his hand on the child's head. "Sit still, Liam," he says softly, with far more gentleness in his voice than when he was speaking to me. "Just for a little." The boy nods seriously and then holds himself perfectly still, eyes screwed up in concentration as Anders works a spell over him. Liam's skin shines with a pale blue light, and when the mana fades, the rash is gone. A woman in a patched dress who must be his mother comes over, smiling happily as she cups her son's cheek. "Just a mild case of stomach cramps," Anders explains, waving off her earnest thanks. "He most likely suffered a bad reaction to something he ate. Unwashed deep mushrooms, perhaps?" He raises an eyebrow at the boy, who ducks his head, carefully avoiding looking at his mother. The woman shakes her head at him, and grabs Anders' hand in thanks. "Bless you, healer."

He smiles at her as she leads her son out, and glances towards the corner where Hawke and the others are gathered just as Hawke finishes with her patient and farewells her. I see the chill look in his eyes lessen just a little as he finally sees what she has been doing to help, but his face hardens again after a moment and he folds his arms crossly.

"Hawke," he says in curt greeting, as though we hadn't been there for nearly an hour already, his voice blunt and dark with badly hidden anger. "Isabela." I see his lip curl ever so slightly as he glances at the former Chantry brother looking back at him with a cool blue gaze. "Sebastian."

"Good day, Anders," Sebastian replies politely.

"Oh, are you going to stop ignoring us now?" Isabela asks, raising her brows. "How very kind of you."

Anders ignores her as Hawke approaches him. She shares a quick smile with me, and then turns her eyes on the clearly still-fuming man before her. Her gaze is serious and thoughtful as she takes in his almost aggressive stance. She was worried he would be angry over what happened between him - well, Justice, really - and us in the Beyond. It certainly looks as though her fears were justified, at any rate.

"Anders," she begins quietly. "May I have a word?"

He looks at her in silence for a moment, then nods once and jerks his head in the direction of his living quarters, through a door right at the back of the clinic. "I'd prefer to speak with you in private, if it's all the same to you," he says with an almost dangerous softness in his voice.

Hawke gives him a level stare. "Alright," she answers, then glances Isabela and Sebastian and finally at me. "Do you mind waiting here a little longer?

I shake my head. " It's fine, ma vhenan." Sebastian and Isabela don't object either. I don't much like the idea of Hawke being in a room alone with Anders when he is so obviously angry, but if Justice does rear his ugly head, we will be close on hand to help and besides, I know Hawke can take care of herself anyway. I try to convey all of this in the reassuring smile I give to Hawke. "We'll be right outside the door," I tell her meaningfully, earning myself a scowl from Anders as he strides through into his rooms, leaving Hawke to follow him.

Once they have both disappeared into the back rooms, we settle down to wait, Isabela hopping up to sit idly on one of the rough wooden examination tables and motioning me to sit next to her, while Sebastian leans against the wall. Isabela throws a friendly arm around my shoulders, grinning at me, and we sit - and lean - in silence for a few moments. I listen hard for any sounds coming from the back rooms, like raised voices, or fighting, or... or the sounds of heavy furniture being thrown about, or anything that might indicate that Hawke and Anders' talk is not exactly going well. Nothing so far... but I'd best keep both ears open just in case. Since elves do seem to have a slightly better sense of hearing than humans, I'm sure if anything started going wrong for Hawke, I'd hear it first. Anders had best watch himself if it does.

A quiet humming drifts across the room, and I realise it is coming from Sebastian. I listen to the tune with half an ear for a bit. It sounds vaguely familiar, but I can't quite place it. It's quite nice, really.

"What's that you're singing, Sebastian?" I ask curiously.

He glances at me with wide blue eyes, obviously a bit startled. "Oh, I, er..." He coughs, and straightens a little, giving a small, embarrassed sort of laugh. "I didn't realise I was. My apologies if you found it irritating."

"Oh, no, not at all!" Isabela grins at him teasingly. "Quite the lovely voice you have. I finally understand Varric's pet name for you, Choir boy."

Sebastian looks bashful, and I smile at him encouragingly. "No need to stop, Sebastian. What song were you singing, anyway?"

A reverent look comes into his eyes, and he smiles peacefully. "The Chant of Light." I hear Isabela scoff quietly beside me, but Sebastian doesn't hear her. Either that, or he does a very good job of ignoring her. "Have you ever heard it?"

I think I have a little bit, when I've gone with Hawke to the Chantry for various reasons, none of them religious. As a mage, Hawke refuses to be any part of a religion that condemns her as evil for being born different to the majority. As well she should. We are no threat to anyone. Unless they hurt us first, of course. "That's the song they sing at the Chantry, right?" I ask Sebastian, just to confirm. He inclines his head, and I nod a 'yes' back to him. "It's pretty... but a little repetitive."

"Well, it is very long," Sebastian agrees. "But it has to be. It contains many verses. Many stories. By now, you must know the story of Andraste? How She became the Maker's divine bride and convinced Him to offer us a second chance?"

"Right," I acknowledge. I have heard it, or bits of it, here and there. Hawke sort of told me the story. But she doesn't really care much for the Chantry's version of events herself. The important bits seem to be that Andraste tried to convert a lot of people to believe in the Maker, attacked Tevinter, then got killed. "But I never understood why she had to die."

"Her mortal husband betrayed her out of jealousy," Sebastian answers simply.

I barely suppress a frown. I know that much, but that's the how, not the why. "But if the Maker wanted her to spread her faith, couldn't she do that better alive?" I press him. "Why did he let her die?"

"The Maker gave us free will," is his answer. "By his betrayal, Maferath showed us that men were not yet worth saving."

I wait for him to continue, but apparently that was his whole response. So... Andraste's human husband got angry that his wife was becoming known as the Maker's bride, and was reaping the glory and credit for his army's victories. So he helped their enemies capture her, which obviously was a mistake on his part. And for that, the Maker gave up once again on all humankind, even Andraste, his most faithful, and let her be burned to death in, what? A fit of pique bordering on a childish tantrum? I just don't get it. "I don't know," I tell Sebastian, shaking my head a little. "It's a nice story, but I think it's got some holes. I mean, Maferath was just one man. Does the Maker expect you all to be perfect on your own before he'll bother to save you?" Sebastian opens his mouth, but no words come out. I haven't finished asking questions, anyway, so it suits me just fine. "And why couldn't he have saved Andraste? He is meant to be a god, isn't he? "

"I-" Sebastian begins, then pauses, apparently searching for words. "He... well..." He clears his throat, and Isabela smothers a chuckle behind her hand. "Well, I daresay you have not yet acquired a full understanding of the Chant, since you were not raised with the Chantry's teachings," he says at last in a kind tone that I find... a little bit patronising, really, though I doubt very much if he means it that way. It's a brush-off, that's for certain. Sometimes I wonder how seriously religious folk believe their own teachings. Even I know our stories of the Creators are largely tales of our own making to explain the world around us. They are nice tales, though. And it is very comforting to believe in them. Sometimes.

Sebastian gives me a curious look. "So what _do_ your people believe, Merrill?"

I blink a little, I'm surprised that he would even ask! It's good to share knowledge about our cultural heritages, as Hawke says. But I hardly ever get asked about Dalish lore by anyone other than Hawke. "Our gods abandoned us long ago," I inform him. "They haven't answered our prayers since the fall of Arlathan. The lore says that when we've proven that we're elves again, that we didn't lose everything, they'll come back to us."

He lifts a brow, nodding slowly in understanding. "We say the same of the Maker," he says, a thoughtful note in his voice. "Perhaps they're only different names for the same divine force that created the world."

I lift an eyebrow too, smiling in amusement at his choice of words. "The Maker wants you to be elves?"

Isabela laughs at that, giving me an affectionate one-armed squeeze. Sebastian chuckles a little too. At least he's the sort of faithful that knows how to take a jest.

"I for one never understood why the Chantry says if you're good, you'll be taken up to the Maker's side," Isabela puts in. She shrugs a little as I glance at her, surprised that she would contribute to a conversation about religion and gods and things. "Well, since we're on the topic and all," she says by way of explanation, and looks expectantly at Sebastian.

"Those who die with the sins cleansed from their souls will walk beside the Maker in eternity," he answers, as though quoting by rote from a Chantry tome. Which he probably is, at that.

Isabela frowns. "That doesn't sound fun!" she scoffs. "If they really want people to be good, shouldn't they offer an afterlife with... lakes of wine and a dozen naked virgins?"

Sebastian smiles wryly at her. "Anyone who wants that will be going to the Void."

She scoffs dismissively in answer. "Sounds like that's where all the good parties will be."

"What does your Chantry do anyway, Sebastian?" I ask curiously. I've tried to ask my friends questions like these before when they've come to mind, but I don't really get any proper answers. Whether because the people I ask don't really know, like Varric, or they really don't care at all about the Chantry and just make a silly or sarcastic sort of joke about it instead, like Isabela or Hawke, I can't really say. But I think if anyone can answer my questions properly, a former Chantry brother can. "I mean, you keep saying how great it is. Anders and Isabela tell me to stay away from it." Isabela nods in approving confirmation of this. "But what does it do? Among the Dalish, the Keepers teach the children, preserve our history, perform magic. The priestesses in the Chantry just... sing."

"The Chantry does many charitable works," Sebastian answers immediately. "It cares for widows and orphans-"

"Who in the Dalish would just be part of the clan, like everyone else," I cut him off before he starts listing every kindness and courtesy that everyone really ought to just be doing for each other anyway, without thought. There shouldn't be any need for the Chantry to be in charge of human kindness, everyone should take care of each other anyway. Like the clans do. I shake my head again. "I just don't get it."

"Well, we've some time now," Sebastian observes eagerly, his expression brightening with interest. "I shall do my best to enlighten you."

Oh. Well... oh, dear.

"Oh, now you've done it," Isabela mutters quietly at my side as Sebastian straightens, a zealous look in his eyes. "He'll preach about the Chantry until he's blue in the face and we're either converted Andrastians or dead from boredom."

I sigh softly in agreement as Sebastian launches into what promises to be a very long speech about the day-to-day charitable workings of the Chantry folk. Creators, please let Hawke's talk with Anders finish soon. Sebastian pulls a small book of hymns out of the pouch at his waist, and Isabela and I exchange apprehensive looks.

Creators? Make that very, _very_ soon.

* * *

><p>xxx H xxx<p>

* * *

><p>Radiating disapproval, Anders stalks ahead of me into his back rooms, turning on his heel once I've closed the door behind me and glaring at me with fury in his amber eyes.<p>

"So," he all but snarls. "You've given him sufficient time. Has your demon granted everything he promised?"

I blink, staring at him in confusion at his words and his sudden outbreak of anger. "What?"

"I have driven myself mad asking what it was," he growls, keeping his eyes on me as he paces the room angrily. "World shattering power? Riches enough to buy all of Kirkwall?"

"Anders," I begin, barely suppressing a sigh of disappointment, and not a little hurt. He was aware of what was happening while Justice was in control of him in the Fade then, knows I had to fight him and destroy his form in the Fade to stop him sabotaging our chances of saving Feynriel. But he truly believes I would have dealt with that demon? I thought he knew me better than that. "I didn't-"

He stops dead in his pacing, facing me, a look of betrayal and rage contorting his features. "What was worth turning on me?" he interrupts savagely. "Killing me? Did you even know I would wake alive? Did you care?" He shakes his head bitterly. "I never thought you would do such a thing, Hawke. I thought better of you. I don't deal with demons. I suppose it's no wonder you're on such good terms with them really, considering how close you've become with the sort of foolish people who aren't so discriminating-"

"Anders!" I interject loudly into his tirade, before he starts putting names to those "foolish people" and raises my ire. He's pushing it already as it is. He falls silent, breathing heavily through his nose as he glares at me. I hold his gaze. "It. Was. A. Ruse," I say slowly, enunciating every word clearly. Pointedly. "I just played along to get the sloth demon's help. I wasn't going through with it."

Anders is quiet for a moment as he absorbs what I've just told him. "You mean..."

"Feynriel isn't possessed," I tell him. "We killed the sloth demon. Isabela, _Merrill_, and I. As I intended we would, after I tricked all the information about Feynriel's situation that I could out of the creature." I give him a hard look. "And as for attacking you, what in the Void was I supposed to do? Stand there while Justice ripped my head off?"

"I... don't know what to say," Anders says softly. He runs a hand over his hair, looking chagrined. "It's not easy to dismiss the memory of you striking me down. But I suppose even had I known your plan, Justice wouldn't listen."

I frown dubiously. "I thought he'd be all for tricking a demon."

Anders shakes his head. "Justice isn't capable of feigning friendship with a demon to achieve an end."

"It's sounding more and more like he's the one in charge," I comment, a little drily. "You need to exert greater control over him." _If you can._

He shoots me a baleful glare. "We were in his realm," he mutters. "He... manifests... more strongly there." Perhaps so, but his words still ring of excuses to me. "I've stayed out of the Fade since we merged. I don't like being a passenger in my own skin." He shifts uncomfortably, perhaps at the memory of it. "I suppose Justice feels like that every day. Shackled to my body and every decision I make."

I wait for something more than the self-pitying prattle I've heard so far, but he seems to have finished speaking, now that he's effectively shifted all the blame for his part of what transpired in the Fade onto Justice alone. I for one am not satisfied to leave the conversation there. Not after everything he's unfairly thrown at me thus far. "Alright, Justice attacked me because he thought I truly had given in to the demon. But after all the time you've known me, I thought you would have been able to see what I was trying to do, even if Justice couldn't." I let my disappointment in him slip through into my eyes and voice, something is definitely _not_ a ruse at all, and turn away, suddenly feeling too disheartened by his behaviour to look at him. "But you actually believed I would sell that poor boy's life and freedom for my own gain. You didn't even consider another explanation. Obviously you don't trust me."

"It's not _you_ I don't trust," he mutters darkly from behind me.

I stiffen, feeling the unspoken name rather than hearing it. "You are referring to Merrill," I state, a dangerous note in my voice.

A moment of silence. Then-

"I am," Anders answers almost challengingly. His words begin falling from him like icy rain from a belligerent stormcloud. "As innocent as she seems, she is still a blood mage. She's sold herself out to a demon. I don't doubt it's in her head, influencing her. Close as you are, it may be influencing you as well. And you won't know it until it's too late!" I turn slowly, and look at him again, feeling a twinge of deep-seated irritation. I thought we were done with this. He stares back at me intently, unapologetically. "I know it isn't my place to criticise," he continues, taking advantage of my irritated warning silence to resume his tiresome argument. " I just... I want you to be careful. I know you might not want to hear it, but... are you sure about Merrill? Really sure? She acts sweet, but-"

"There's no act. She_ is_ sweet," I cut him off again, finding my voice. He's right. I don't want to hear it. Besides, considering the new argument he introduced concerning the demon, I have a strong feeling I know why he is unwilling to let this go; and I am certainly not about to let him assuage his own guilt and self-doubts about Justice with an unprovoked verbal attack on the woman I love. It isn't fair on her, and it is decidedly unworthy of him. "And kind, and brave, and utterly selfless. And she isn't going to have anything to do with her demon any more, if that is your only objection. She only needed to use it to fix an ancient magical relic of her people." I don't know how much he knows about the eluvian, but he must have heard of it by now, everyone has, I'm sure. There are no secrets with two resident storytellers and shameless gossips in the group. "I'm going to help her find another way to repair it. When we do, she'll never have to touch blood magic again."

"You honestly believe that?" he asks, staring at me with obvious incredulity. "You actually think she'll be able to give it up?"

"Yes," I answer firmly, simply. "I do. There's no doubt in my mind."

He gives an irritated, angry gesture of his hand in frustration. "You're blind," he accuses, a rough edge to his voice. "In denial. She'll _never_ pick you over her demon!"

I suppress a growl of outrage and indignation. "What right do you have to question us?"

"None, perhaps," Anders says, clearly trying to force his voice to calm. "But you… you're my friend, and I'm concerned for you."

"Then I thank you for your concern," I tell him with deliberate patience, "but it is misplaced, and unnecessary. Merrill loves me. And I love her. If I were free to choose who I fall in love with, I would still choose her. Demon or no, I trust her completely." I take a breath and pause for a moment. "But you're right, Anders." He looks at me, half surprised, half suspicious, and I meet his eyes coldly. "You of all people are _certainly_ not in any position to criticise."

"Justice is a spirit, not a demon," he says, his jaw clenching tightly as he catches my meaning, and his eyes flash, though they retain their usual golden brown colouring. From the look of him, though, I'm beginning to suspect it is becoming more and more difficult for him to keep Justice at bay, although for the moment he seems to be managing it. Otherwise I'm certain I'd be in trouble. I suppose it would prove my point, at least.

"There's a fine line. Are you certain he hasn't crossed it?" I challenge him. He strides forward, stopping only scant inches from me, but I refuse to back down. "I saw him take you over. He almost killed that mage girl, that innocent. All because she was frightened, and thought he was a demon. And I hate to tell you, but from what I saw, her mistake is understandable, if indeed it was a mistake. He's hardly benevolent anymore, and getting harder for you to control, I can tell. And you know that spirits aren't meant to inhabit human bodies. That's what demons do. And the only difference between them appears to be whether they embody a virtue or a vice. Justice may be a virtue, but what is Vengeance?" A worried look flashes across his face, and I soften my voice a little, feeling my anger dissipating. A little. "Maybe one day you'll be able to admit that when it comes to passing judgement on Merrill... you don't really have a leg to stand on," I finish, trying to keep my voice gentle. I know his concern is genuine, if misinformed, and I know he thinks he is trying to look out for me. I don't want to antagonise him, but... I just want him to see how little right he has to keep harping on this, how little point there is for him to do so.

He shakes his head at me, eyes narrowed, as though deeply disappointed. "And perhaps one day you'll see the demon's face behind that virginal smile."

I grit my teeth, suppressing the urge to hiss through them as my fury rekindles. That is completely unfair, not to mention hypocritical to boot; stubbornly so, given the bulk of our argument thus far. I glare at him coldly. "Merrill's demon is bound in a statue, trapped in a cave on the top of a mountain. _She_ would never willingly let it into her body. Or any spirit, for that matter."

His face hardens angrily, and he grabs me strongly by both arms. "You're a fool," he snaps.

My gaze meets his as I glare at him coldly in warning. "Release me, Anders," I order him, my voice low and fierce. "Now."

Golden eyes narrow in fury as he stares into my face, face twisted into ugly lines. "She'll only betray you," he sneers with wrathful vehemence. "That's all her kind can do."

_Her kind?_

"That's enough!" I hiss furiously, suddenly incensed. I suppose he must mean blood mages, not elves, but either way I won't let him talk about her like that. I try unsuccessfully to pull from his grasp. "Let go of me!"

Anders' grip tightens painfully and he pulls me closer, giving me a forceful shake, a strange sort of angry desperation in his eyes. "Not until you listen!"

Irrational panic seizes me at his display of aggression and force as feelings of helplessness and fear long suppressed rise to the surface with a vengeance. "Let _go!_" I shout, throwing him off me, lashing out, mana exploding from my control and lashing out with a force push, sending Anders flying to slam face first against the far wall. I stumble back with the recoil, breathing heavily from the effects of the unintentional effort and the lingering anxiety of being held, restrained...

Jumbled memories of Meeran's leering face and grasping hands assault my mind until I force them away. I rub a hand over my face as Anders climbs slowly back to his feet, groaning. I ignore him. Maker, I need to be calm, need to think rationally. I think... I think, all things considered, that I probably could have handled that better from the start, with better rationality and sensitivity; particularly with what I said to him about Justice. I doubt it helped, considering that much of his concern regarding Merrill stems from what he refuses to acknowledge about his own situation. And... from jealousy? Much as I may struggle to believe it... no, surely not.

Even so, that would not excuse his actions, I remind myself, rubbing at the places on my arms where he gripped me, sending gentle threads of healing magic to soothe my bruised skin. Anders looks at me sharply as he senses my spell, a remorseful look stealing over his face. He steps towards me, one glowing hand extended.

"Hawke," he starts ruefully. "I'm-"

I step back out of reach, not from fear but from anger. I know he didn't mean to hurt me, but I'm far too angry with him still to allow him to soothe his guilty conscience by healing me. He stops, but doesn't drop his hand, fingers still glittering with unused magic.

"Hawke..." The way he sighs my name, as though wearied by the stubbornness of a child, does little to calm the fury in my veins. "Let me heal you."

"Heal yourself," I snap at him. His aggression towards me, relatively mild as it was, is not something I can forgive and forget within a breath. And his arrogant attitude right now is certainly not doing him any favours. I am a perfectly capable healer, a fact which he often seems to overlook.

Anders puts a hand to his face at my words and starts in surprise as he feels the blood flow wetting his fingers. He weaves a healing spell and mends his broken nose, taking a cloth from a nearby table and cleaning himself off before he turns to me again. "I understand you don't want to hear what I have to say," he begins doggedly. "But that doesn't mean you don't need to hear it. Your relationship with Merrill-"

"Is none of your concern," I cut him off, managing to restrain the impulse to smash him against the wall again. Barely. He doesn't need to speak, I know what he is going to say. My relationship with Merrill blinds me, clouds my judgement, endangers me, any of that sort of rubbish. Enough. I set my jaw angrily, regarding him. Friend or not, feelings or not, he had no right to manhandle me like that. No more does he have any right to continue to speak against my relationship with Merrill. I've more than had my fill of his bitter mistrust and his self-pitying sulkiness, and right in this moment I want nothing more than to have him out of my sight.

"I came to make sure you were alright after yesterday," I inform him evenly, making certain to keep my voice level. "I have, and you are, or seem to be. I don't want to hear another word from you about your misapprehensions about Merrill, nor any comments on your opinion of our relationship of any kind. And if you can't speak to her without keeping a civil tongue in your head, then I'd rather you refrain from speaking to either of us at all. She is mine, and I am hers. Always. Nothing you or anyone can say will ever change that."

"Keep your illusions then," Anders snaps bitterly, his face hardening. "Maker knows I won't be the one to change them."

I hold his stare, unblinking, unflinching, uncompromising. "No," is my low reply, soft yet firm and unyielding as stone. "You won't."

Without another word I turn on my heel and stride from Anders' quarters back into the clinic, not particularly caring if he is following me or not.

"What do the Dalish teach about the creation of the Darkspawn?" Sebastian is saying as I re-enter the clinic, his blue gaze locked on a somewhat uncharacteristically hassled-looking Merrill. Isabela is looking equally as frustrated; Sebastian must have been going on about Andrastianism and the Chantry again. Sebastian tilts his head in a display of curiosity as he presses Merrill for an answer. "I mean, the Chant of Light says it was the hubris of magisters trying to compete with the Maker. But you don't believe in the Chant of Light, or the Maker. What do you believe about how the Darkspawn came to be?"

Merrill exhales shortly, the irritated sound soft but loud enough to reach my ears nonetheless. "Well, we don't get into many details, but we're pretty sure it's the humans' fault."

I laugh at the same time Isabela does and Merrill's head turns instantly towards me. "Ma vhenan," she greets me warmly. "How did it go?" Her gaze flicks to a point just over my shoulder before I can answer and her smile falters a fraction, but stays. "Are you alright, Anders?" she asks kindly.

"Fine," comes the gruff reply behind me. I turn my head to the side in his direction, conveying warning without looking at him and hear him shift from foot to foot uncomfortably. He clears his throat. "I'm fine," he repeats, his tone softer and far more polite. A forced politeness, to be sure, but far more civil than I've come to expect. Good enough, for now. "Thank you, Merrill." A pause. "And yourself?"

Merrill blinks in surprise. "I'm well, thank you," she replies, clearly a little thrown by his good manners. She offers him another sweet smile. "I'm glad you're alright after yesterday. I did worry about you."

"Well... thank you. But I'm fine, I assure you." I hear him walk a few steps to the side of the room and turn to see him standing before his desk, looking with studious interest at the wall, hands clasped behind his back. Effectively detaching himself from further conversation, evidently. That's fine. We'll need to be along now, anyway.

"I'm fine too, by the way," Isabela drawls, amusement in her tone. Anders' mouth quirks, and he glances at her, a gleam of amusement in his eye.

"I had no doubt you would be," he comments dryly, returning his gaze to the wall. Or, rather, the picture fixed to it above his desk, which appears to be a hand-drawn rendering of a small cat.

Sebastian clears his throat. "Well," he begins. "If your business here is complete, Hawke, do you think we could be on our way? I am anxious to speak with Lady Harimann."

I nod at him. "Yes, we'll go now."

He gives me a tight smile, half grateful, half apprehensive, and looks to the fairly subdued looking mage standing by his desk. "Farewell then, Anders."

Anders just nods distractedly. I frown. He looks somewhat unfocused. Lost. Maybe he hit his head harder that I thought? If so, I'm sure he can manage to take care of it. He is still gazing at the picture of the cat on the wall. It must mean something to him, a remnant of his past life. Perhaps the cat he used to have, or a picture to remind him of the it. Given to him by the Warden, if I recall. I sigh softly to myself. He may very well be unhappy enough right now to be looking back to his old life with longing. I still think it best to let him cool off for a bit, and I am still not particularly thrilled with him, but I don't want him to feel he is unwelcome, that I don't still view him as a friend.

"You could get another cat, you know," Merrill pipes up suddenly from beside me. Anders turns to look at her, a questioning brow raised. She looks back at him with earnest sincerity. "There was one in the Lowtown market with a litter of kittens when I lived there. They must be ready to wean by now."

He stares at her unblinking for a moment, and then shockingly a small almost-smile cracks his granite expression. "You don't pay attention to Templars, Qunari or politics," he questions her wryly, "but you notice kittens?"

"Like notices like," Isabela chuckles quietly with a fond glance at Merrill, who gives Anders a little grin.

"Templars, Qunari, and politics don't meow and attack your feet when you're buying food," she quips happily.

I smile too. "Now there's an image."

Anders is silent for a moment, staring at her. I can't tell if he's incredulous or amazed. "Are there any tabbies?" he asks suddenly, and it's my turn to be surprised. His eyes flick to mine, and I smile my approval at his soft, near-friendly tone. He looks back at Merrill and his face adopts a faraway sort of look. "I'd like a tabby."

"There might be," Merrill tells him, smiling. He nods thoughtfully, and I incline my head at him in farewell, glad that we seem to be parting on a much more cheerful sort of note. Trust Merrill to turn the fuming aftermath of a fight into a conversation about kittens.

"We'll be going now then," I announce to him and the room in general. "I'll see you later, Anders."

He nods again, including all of us in his farewell. "Take care."

We leave the clinic, Merrill walking beside me as we stride down the dank, empty street, Isabela and Sebastian walking a few paces behind us, engaging in quiet conversation. Or flirting on Isabela's part, no doubt. A small hand slips into mine, and Merrill squeezes my fingers gently as she looks up at me.

"Was Anders very angry?" she asks softly. "Was he alright?"

I nod a yes in answer to both of her questions. " He is fine, physically. But he thought I had really betrayed Feynriel for the demon's offer," I tell her, and hasten to continue as an indignant, angry look comes into her eyes. "I explained it to him, don't worry. He knows I was trying to trick the demon now. Justice apparently doesn't understand such subtlety, that's all."

Merrill nods, accepting my explanation, but her eyes still search mine. "And what else did you speak about?" she asks carefully.

I nearly smile. Maker but she's perceptive about such things sometimes. "Nothing that hasn't been dealt with before," I reply, not wanting to go into details about Anders continued mistrust of her, but knowing she will have her answer nonetheless. She nods tiredly, understanding, and I wrap my arm about her in reassurance. "After our... discussion, I think Anders is going to try and behave with more civility towards you from now on."

"Well, that's nice," Merrill says, clearly not entirely convinced. "I'd rather he did it because he wanted to, though, not because you make him."

"That will still take a little time, I think," I tell her. "He is a Tower-raised mage. He has a lot of old prejudices to work his way out of yet. Give it a while."

I turn left at the next junction, heading for the lift furthest from the clinic, the one that will take us to Lowtown and circumvent the docks. The quicker we make it to Hightown and get this over with, the better. It's been rather a trying morning thus far.

"Did you tell him everything that happened in the Fade after he left?" Merrill asks after a moment, a touch of anxiety in her voice.

I shake my head. "No. If I told him about the other demons, all he would take from it is that you were overcome by their influence, and he would be quick to use that as ammunition against you." I grimace. "Despite the glaring fact that Isabela, an ordinary, non-magical, non-maleficar human, fell to a demon's influence far more easily than you did. I didn't think he needed to know anything more than that we succeeded in rescuing Feynriel in the end."

"Well, then," Merrill says, giving me a small smile. "I'll be sure not to mention it to him either."

I chuckle as we turn the corner and reach the waiting lift at last, hugging Merrill close as we climb inside. "Sounds like a wise decision to me."

Sebastian begins gallantly working the mechanism that will take the lift to the surface, pumping away at it as fast as he can with a great deal of vigour and determination. Clearly wanting to get out of Darktown and up to Hightown as quickly as possible. I can hardly blame him. I'd very much like to see the rest of this day over and done with now, too. And go home to the comfort of a good meal, a warm bath, a nice soft bed. I press a kiss to Merrill's temple as the lift climbs higher, rewarded by a tightening of her arms about my middle. Hopefully speaking to the Harimanns won't take too long. Or become too violent. Or just plain strange. I have to laugh quietly to myself at that last thought.

Andraste, wouldn't that be a nice change of pace?

* * *

><p>"That's strange," Sebastian murmurs almost to himself as we stand together in the foyer of the dark, apparently empty Harimann mansion. "The door was wide open. And not a single guard posted." He looks to me, confusion and wariness evident in his eyes. "This is not the Lady Harimann I remember."<p>

We move further inside, noting the darkness, the covered windows, the dust and general untidiness. Still not a soul in sight, not a guard, not even a servant. Ordinarily a mansion this size would be bustling with staff and activity of all kinds. Not full of eerie silence.

"There should be someone here," I mutter, mostly just to say something and cut this dreadful silence. "Lady Harimann and her husband aside, there are at least two Harimann sons, correct?"

"Brett, and Ruxton," Sebastian nods. "And a daughter, Flora. The eldest. We played together as children. My brothers and I were brought to visit with the Harimanns whenever my parents visited Kirkwall. Our families were good friends." He picks up a broken china plate fragment, examines it briefly, then drops it on a dusty sideboard. "Once."

"No guards, no servants. No bodies, even," I note. "If they aren't dead, where are they?"

"Perhaps they're out?" Merrill ventures hopefully. "At the market, or... or something."

"You really think that's likely, kitten?" Isabela asks, one eyebrow lifted.

"At this point, no, not really," Merrill sighs. "It was just nice to believe it for a moment."

There are cobwebs in every ceiling corner. I examine the floor, finding the patterned stones covered in a thin layer of dust and scattered rodent droppings. I can almost hear my mother being horrified from hundreds of miles away. A frown crosses my face as I notice an... irregularity, if that word can be attributed in a situation where nothing is as it should be. There are footprints in the dust. Recent, from the look of them, heading up the stairs ahead of us.

"More than one set of tracks," Isabela says as I point them out to the others. "So there are people here after all. Somewhere up further in, apparently."

We make our way up the stairs out of the entrance hall, following the footprints. The torches are unlit, all candles burnt out. The entire place has the dank, musty odour of neglect. Not entirely unlike Fenris's house, in fact.

"There is something very wrong in here," Sebastian declares as we head through an open door down a dark stone corridor.

"No shit, Prince Observant," Isabela mutters under her breath beside me, out of Sebastian's hearing.

"More!" A woman's voice echoes up from somewhere ahead, the words slow and running together. "More! You lazy son of a bitch, what's taking so long?"

Sebastian stops in his tracks, then strides to the end of the short hallway and looks over the stone railing that divides the room between access to the rest of the house and a cellar of sorts, filled with giant wooden barrels. "Flora?" He makes his way quickly over to a set of stairs leading down to where a woman in a silk dress stained beyond repair stands between the two barrels, glaring balefully at no one. No one any of us can see, at any rate. Empty mugs and broken wine bottles litter the ground at her feet.

"Why does no one in this house care what I want?" she slurs, clearly drunk. "More wine! Or I swear I will drown you in the dregs!"

"Flora!" Sebastian says loudly, and turns to us as we follow him to the base of the steps. Flora, heir to the Harimann estate, doesn't so much as glance over her shoulder. "She doesn't even see us!" Sebastian says, glancing back at her in amazement as she aims an off-target, drunken blow at the wine barrel before her. He shakes his head slowly. "This is no normal wine."

"Seems normal enough to me," Isabela says, picking up one of Flora's discarded tankards and sniffing it cautiously.

"If drinking herself stupid isn't one of her usual pastimes, then perhaps she's drinking to escape something," I muse softly.

"Or she just can't hold her liquor," Isabela says dismissively, casting a somewhat scornful glance in Flora's direction.

"Bring me my wine or you will be flayed and thrown into the street! I am the heir!" Flora slumps against the wine barrel, suddenly breaking out in heaving sobs. "Oh, _Mother!_" she moans.

Sebastian stares at her incredulously. "Flora would never drink so much as a glass of wine with dinner," he said. "If she is drinking like this, something is certainly wrong." He looks at us. "She appears unharmed for the moment, but certainly in no fit state to speak to me. We need to find out if anyone else is here, Lady Harimann in particular."

"I need more wine!" Flora calls to no one as we traipse back up the stairs and out of the cellar. She groans loudly. "Anything to quell this _pounding_ in my head..."

The flickering of a fire's glow catches my eye, and I beckon to my companions, motioning towards the nearby doorway. A moving shadow flickers on the floor as we approach and enter the room beyond.

"More logs! It must be molten!" A young man in a once fine suit of tailored clothing is standing before a blazing fire, lit from a pile of wooden logs, scrolls, paintings and books right in the middle of the floor of the next room. Above the fire is a cauldron emitting a fierce reddish gold light, and an acrid smell bites the air. At his feet are piles of gold coins and ornaments, which he periodically bends down and grabs handfuls of during his feverish ranting. "You!" He turns to the elven manservant beside him, unnoticed in the gloom. My eyes widen as I see that he is holding an elven scullery maid at knifepoint. "More gold coins!" the boy shouts excitedly, tossing another handful into the melting pot. "I want every scrap of gold in this house!"

"Brett?" Sebastian mutters beside me.

A dry, strangled sob bursts from the elf girl's lips. "Please, messere!" she chokes as the elven manservant tightens his arm about her throat.

Brett Harimann glances at her as though seeing her for the first time, eyes gleaming in the light of the fire before him. "There's nothing to fear," he says, his voice surprisingly gentle, as though trying to reassure her. "You'll be beautiful." He turns his gaze on the servant holding her captive, and gestures commandingly to the pot of molten gold. "Pour it over her!"

"Don't! You'll kill her!" Sebastian shouts. The boy doesn't so much as glance in his direction, and Sebastian shakes his head in horror. "He can't hear me..."

The elven man hears him though, and releases the girl in order to start aggressively towards Sebastian, who punches him soundly in the face without a word. The manservant crumples to the ground.

"Quickly, sister, get out of here!" Merrill calls to her, and the elf girl takes her chance, running past us towards the entrance of the house.

The youngest Harimann son watches her go, but the look on his face is one of confusion rather than anger. "Where did she go?" he enquires plaintively of the room at large. "She would have been beautiful!" He rubs the blonde stubble on his chin thoughtfully, gazing into the molten golden soup. "Perhaps_ I_ should be the one..."

Andraste's arse, I'm running out of patience for saving people from themselves! I call a ball of swirling ice fragments into my hand and cast it towards the simmering cauldron, freezing the liquid gold inside and snuffing out the fire. Sebastian knocks him across the back of the head with the stave of his bow and breathes out heavily, staring down at the unconscious man.

"I visited this house often as a child. They could not have concealed such goings on." He looks down at Brett Harimann again and shakes his head disbelievingly. "We must end this madness!"

I look about what appears to be the servant's dining hall adjacent to the cellars and the kitchens, plates of uneaten, rotted food lying about on cluttered tables, what little hasn't been carried away by vermin. "How long would you say all this has been here?" I wonder aloud. "People have been living here, clearly, but no one has been cleaning or maintaining the house." I indicate the boy on the floor. "Or seeing to the family's needs. Look at his cheeks, so hollow and thin. I doubt if he's had a proper meal in a month. Or changed his clothes from the smell of him. And Flora didn't look any better."

"Nobles," Isabela sniggers. "Can't look after themselves to save their lives without an army of servants to burp and change them." She glances between me and Sebastian and smirks. "Present company excluded, of course."

I spare a moment to give her a quick, fierce glare at her for referring to me as a noble, and then continue my search of the room's contents, trying to find any clue as to what can have happened here. A crumpled scrap of parchment catches my eye, and I pick it up from the table. It is a handwritten note or letter of some kind, ripped out of a book from the near-straight tear along one edge of the page. I show it to Sebastian.

"That... looks to be in Flora's hand," he says, taking it from me. "From a diary, perhaps?" He peers at the small, elegant lettering, trying to make it out.

Isabela _tsks_. "You oughtn't to go prying about in young ladies' diaries, Sebastian," she admonishes him wryly. "Did the Chantry teach you nothing about the value of privacy?"

He ignores her and begins reading aloud from the page in his hand.

"'Mother finally began her expansion to the estate today. She brought in two dozen men from the Imperium who I'm sure were slaves, and they've been excavating the hillside behind the house. The dirt is awful. And the noise! Must they shatter every rock in Kirkwall? It's been quiet since lunch, though, and Mother is behaving very strangely. She's now talking about stopping the expansion - just like that, with no explanation. She never tells me anything...'"

Sebastian's voice trails off, and he looks up at us. "There's only one page," he says softly. "There is no more written here. This is dated the first day of Harvestmere. Two years ago, almost to the day. Not too long after Lord Harimann died, I think."

"Perhaps there are more pages scattered about then," Merrill suggests thoughtfully. She casts her eyes downwards, poking hopefully at a few blank bits of parchment littered about on the floor with her bare toes. "Nothing here..."

"Everyone keep an eye out," I say as I lead the way out of the kitchen. "We've got to see if there's anyone else in here, particularly if they're about to give someone a permanent golden crown. Horrible way to kill someone, really. Unless it was someone who really, _really _deserved it, I suppose, then I daresay most people might find it wildly entertaining.

I shake off such irreverently morbid thoughts and choose a direction at random, heading up a flight of stairs to what appears to be the family's bedchamber wing, with fancier paintings adorning the walls, and numerous heavy tapestries draped on every inch of spare space to both ward off the cold and dampen echoing noise.

"Ma vhenan," Merrill murmurs beside me, tugging at my sleeve. She holds up another piece of parchment when I turn to look at her. "Another page, I think. I found it on that side table."

She clears her thought gently and begins to read. "Tenth day of Harvestmere. Father is behaving so oddly. Today he..." She breaks off, blinking in surprised disbelief. "He... Creators!"

Isabela peers over her shoulder at the page, and chuckles, plucking the parchment from Merrill's hand. "Here, kitten. Let me."

Merrill glances at her as Isabela draws the page from her unresisting fingers. "Fathers... don't usually behave that way with their daughters, do they?" she asks confusedly. "It seems... inappropriate."

"Wouldn't know, kitten," Isabela answers cheerfully. "I don't think so, though." She turns her eyes to the diary page and resumes where Merrill left off. "'Father is behaving oddly. Today he pinched my buttocks!'" she reads with amused relish. "'Just reached around the table and... I can't even imagine what would make him do such a thing. And to the servant girls, as well! Some of the things he says would truly make a sailor blush.'" Isabela chuckles. "Oh, dear girl, I doubt that you would have any idea to just what lengths one would have to go to make a sailor blush."

"Could you continue, please?" Sebastian asks in a carefully polite - yet quite obviously strained - voice.

Isabela glances at him, but apparently decides to refrain from any impertinent quip. She begins reading again. "'I told the maids to lock up the wine, but it hasn't made any difference so far. I'm going to the Chantry tonight to pray for him.'" Isabela lowers the page, looking unimpressed. "Fat lot of good that did," she comments, looking round. I am inclined to agree.

Sebastian disregards her mocking statement, taking the parchment from her hand and glancing it over. "So, Lady Harimann's husband was acting strangely too. Does that have any connection with what is happening here that you can see?" he asks me, and pauses uncomfortably. "I mean, anything... odd?"

I regard him for a moment, unsure just what he is getting at. "What do you mean, Sebastian?"

He meets my eyes intently. "Do you think he may have been affected by some sort of... magic? An... apostate, perhaps?"

Ah.

"No," I answer, trying not to speak too shortly. "I don't think this is the work of a mage." Really. I know Sebastian hasn't been involved in quite as many of my scrapes and adventures as my other companions, and that his devotion to the Maker borders on that of a zealot, but he has been around us long enough to have seen for himself that mages aren't as terrible as the Chantry would have everyone believe. It's disappointing that his first thought to explain what is wrong here is that mages must somehow be at fault.

Yet... while I can't see any reason for a mage to target the Harimanns, the obsessive actions of the two Harimann siblings we have discovered so far can certainly not be described as normal by any means. I don't think there is a rogue mage at the centre of this mess, but maybe...

"Not a mage, but... there is the possibility of arcane influence," I admit, and hurry on as Sebastian gives me a confused look. "I don't mean mages. Something... supernatural may be at work."

His eyes widen. "Demons?" Isabela shifts uncomfortably behind me, and I feel Merrill stiffen by my side at the mention of the word.

I shrug. "This is Kirkwall," I say by way of answer. "It's certainly possible." My lips quirk wryly. "Make that highly probable, actually."

"Wait..." Sebastian says, holding up his hands for silence. "I thought I heard voices..." He trails off, looking down the corridor to the right. "This way!" he says, and leads the way through to the bedroom at the end of the hall.

I hear the rough voice of a man as we draw near, chuckling delightedly. Sebastian enters the room first, and stops dead just inside the door. I draw up beside him, Merrill on his other side and Merrill on mine, all of our gazes locked on the spectacle taking place on the other side of the room.

"Oh!" the bearded, naked man sitting on the edge of the bed gasps to the equally naked elven woman trailing kisses down his naked chest. "Lower! _Lower!_" Neither of them so much as glance up at the intrusion of four strangers.

"I beg your pardon, Hawke!" Sebastian exclaims, sounding more than a little flustered. "I did not mean to expose you to... such things."

"No apologies necessary," Isabela crows jubilantly.

"What are they even doing?" Merrill asks in bewilderment. " Mythal'enaste!"

I glance at her in not a little confusion - she ought to know very well what they're doing by this point in our relationship, surely - but my incredulity vanishes as I see what she is really looking at; a large peacock quill, twirled in the fingers of the naked man.

"No," The man who must be Ruxton Harimann cries, placing the quill in the elven woman's hand. "The feather! Use the feather!"

"What could he want her to do with a feather?" Merrill wonders aloud, eyes wide, and I suddenly have a very strong urge to cover her eyes with my fingers.

Ruxton stands, his lower half no longer hidden by the elven maid, and now I have an incredibly strong urge to cover my own eyes. "Where have you been all my life?" he enquires loudly of the elven woman - presumably a servant - who watches him with a glazed smile. He strides to the balcony, opening his arms wide to the world, and exposing himself - fully - to the afternoon breeze. "Today, I am more than a man! Come," he says as he turns back to his naked elven companion. A huge, lustful grin lights his whiskered face. "Felicitate me!"

Isabela bursts out laughing, the sound echoing about the room, yet still not drawing the attention of the couple across the room, now becoming entwined in a passionate - and increasingly mortifying -embrace. "That's a great line!" the Pirate Queen grins delightedly. "I should use that! Ooh! I could get it embroidered on my blouse!" She grins wickedly. "Or tattooed on my-"

"He has no idea we're here!" Sebastian interrupts, apparently not listening. He turns away as the man and woman fall to the bed, still entangled and becoming more so. "I've known Ruxton Harimman my whole life, he's a complete prude!"

Isabela smirks, eyes feasting on the scene before her. "That's my kind of prude."

"Where's your brother?" comes the voice of Ruxton from across the room. "Let's ask him to join us!"

Ugh. "That is quite enough for me, I think," I say, turning to leave the room. Not fast enough to evade the next disturbing sentence to escape young master Harimann's lips.

"You know what they say about a man with big hands!"

"I do," Isabela says. "And it isn't necessarily true."

"What do they say?" Merrill asks curiously.

"That he has an inflated opinion of himself," I reply wryly, pulling her from the room. On my way out I see another piece of parchment lying on a desk by the door and snatch it up.

"Now, you be the naughty apprentice, and I'll be the Templar Torturer," I hear as I walk with increasing speed down the hallway, the others trailing behind me. "I have the manacles right here..."

Oh, Maker. Now I'm repulsed on a number of levels.

Once we've left the bedchamber wing behind us, I turn to my companions, the diary page in my hand. "Another page. I found it on the vanity beside the door... back there," I explain. "I'd rather not speculate as to how it got there, but maybe it will have something useful." I begin reading. "'Eleventh Day of Harvestmere. What can be happening? First Father, now Brett. I can't talk to either of them anymore. I don't know what they're drinking, but they are lost in their own little worlds. And Mother doesn't care; should she even be here, all she talks about is Starkhaven and marrying me off to that idiot Goran Vael. What madness has come over this place?'" I glance up at my audience. "That's it."

"Goran Vael?" Sebastian repeats, eyes narrowed. "That is the name of the usurper currently occupying the throne. A distant cousin, a self absorbed, gluttonous fool, who has _no right_ to it. Not while I still live."

"She keeps mentioning wine, and drinking," Isabela murmurs thoughtfully, almost to herself. "Seems to have been on her mind quite a bit. Maybe she desired drink more often than she let on, and all this strangeness she mentions finally drove her to it."

The word Isabela chose, _desired_, gives me pause for thought. "Sebastian, you know the Harimanns well. Are you sure Flora's current, er, penchant for wine tasting isn't usual?"

"Positive," he answers. "Her grandmother had some... problems with moderating her drinking, or so I've heard. Caused quite a bit of trouble for the family in her day. Flora never allowed herself to drink."

"But she very well may have wanted to," I muse softly to myself. If she harboured a strong, secret desire to drink, but constantly resisted it... well, that would prove very useful to a certain type of supernatural force I've become well acquainted with of late. "And what of Brett and Ruxton?" I press Sebastian. "Is Brett particularly avaricious? Or a lover of art, or something?"

"He has always been an aesthete," Sebastian replies slowly. "He always said he wanted to own the largest private collection of fine works in Thedas one day."

"You think there's a demon at work here?" Merrill asks me, catching on to my thoughts exactly.

I nod. "A desire demon, I'd wager. Causing the Harimanns to become obsessed with their strongest longings."

"That would certainly explain Messere Big Hands back there," Isabela smirks, jerking a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the bedchamber wing.

Sebastian frowns dubiously. "But Ruxton has never had a lascivious bone in his body!"

"Or so you all thought," I shrug. "But it seems he had more than a few secret desires in that area after all."

"I'd wager all his so called 'prudery' before now was nothing more than shyness." Isabela grins widely. "He certainly seems to have at least one lascivious bone at present."

"We have yet to find the Lady of the house," I remind everyone. "Demon or no, that is why we're here. And since we haven't come across either of them yet, chances are they're together."

"If you're correct about this demon," Sebastian says. "Does that mean it is to blame for all that has happened here? All that the Harimanns have done, the deaths of my parents my family?"

"Not entirely," I tell him. "Demons of desire are just that: the embodiments of desire. Not coercion. They can tempt you, and bring your darkest desires to the surface, even force you to act on them if they are strong enough. But they can't actively make you desire anything you didn't want in the first place. Johane Harimann must have held a deep-seated desire to claim the Starkhaven throne for herself, or at least to have access to the power and status that comes with it, a yearning beyond mere jealousy. A demon could have influenced her to act on that desire, and send assassins after your family. But it couldn't have planted that desire if it weren't there to begin with."

"If it is a demon, though," Merrill puts in, taking my hand and squeezing my fingers in her small, warm ones. "You're lucky you have Hawke to help you."

"Nobody better," Isabela agrees.

"I have no doubt of that," Sebastian says, then exhales in a long breath. "Still, by Andraste, I hope that is not what we're dealing with."

"If we're going looking for the old woman," Isabela says with growing restlessness. "Perhaps we ought to get a move on?"

We search the remaining unexplored rooms, but find no one else, nor any other diary pages to shed any more light on the situation. At last there is only one last place left to search, and we start one by one down the dusty steps to the basement level of the mansion. At first glance, the room seems empty of all but a few more wine barrels and vacant shelves, but as my eyes adjust to the gloom, I see a pair of dark shapes silhouetted blackly against the shadows in the corner. I hold up a hand, halting the others as they arrive at the base of the stairs behind me.

"Who's there?" I call, summoning a ball of fire into my hand, illuminating the figures and the scene around them. Brett and Flora Harimann are standing across the room, their faces expressionless, their bodies slumped as though held up by a force of will not their own, the bodies of men and women clad in leather strewn at their feet. I recognise the emblem embroidered on the tattered tunic of the closest corpse as that of Flint Company. These must have been the last remaining remnants of the mercenaries hired to wipe out the Vaels. It seems they fared badly when their employer discovered they had not quite succeeded in their bloody task.

"Turn back," Flora Harimann commands, her voice devoid of all urgency and feeling.

I raise an eyebrow, and summon my mana as unobtrusively as possible. "So, now you see us," I quip, stalling for time as I attempt to examine the two in front of me. If something is controlling or influencing their actions, I don't want it to detect me and risk hurting these two if it decides to cut the strings. "Odd; when we watched you being a drunken ass, you ignored us completely."

Flora's face does not change. "There is nothing here for you."

"We just want to know what's happening, Flora," Sebastian says slowly, taking a small step towards her. "Where is your mother? And your father?"

Ruxton Harimann comes down the stairs behind us, still shirtless but mercifully clad in a pair of long undergarments, and no longer giggling and lust-consumed. He shuffles past us to stand behind Flora, then turns to us. His face is as blank and devoid of feeling as those of his siblings. "Leave."

I begin to lose my patience. Why must every favour I do for my friends turn out like this? "You're not in a strong negotiating position," I inform him, still reaching out to all three of them with a slender thread of mana, trying to look inside them. Not to read their minds, I'm not capable of that, it's far too invasive and dangerous, but to try and discern if there is anything... unusual or foreign affecting them. But my probing thread seems to hit some sort of slippery barrier, like a wall of glass, repelling all my attempts to examine them. I suppose that in itself is enough of an answer. There is something inside their minds. Something powerful.

A flicker of feeling, a grimace of pain, travels across Flora Harimann's face for a fleeting instant. "You... shall not... enter..." she half mutters, half groans, eyelids fluttering wildly.

Suddenly, all three of the Harimann children's eyes roll up and back in their heads, showing only white, and they collapse to the ground as a host of shades and a lesser desire demon manifest out of the shadows behind them.

I cast a protective shield over the still forms of the Harimanns, and then we dive into the fray, Isabela darting in and out of shadows, dealing damage to the creatures with lightning-quick dagger thrusts and vanishing to another corner of the room before they can retaliate. Sebastian keeps back, dealing death with his arrows, and Merrill and I stand back to back in the middle of the room, casting spell after spell in turn to keep the horde at bay; fire, ice, lightning.

Merrill casts a sheet of ice over a blazing rage demon that roars into being to my left, and I shatter it in the next instant with a stone fist right in its malformed face. Sebastian shoots an armour-piercing arrow straight through the glowing eye of a shade, dropping it instantly, but the desire demon lifts her clawed fingers, electricity crackling between them as she glares in his direction.

I cry out in warning. "Sebastian! On your left!"

The creature sends a bolt of lightning arcing across the room towards him. Sebastian reacts just in time, raising his bow in front of his chest, warding the bolt with the wood of his bow, which snaps with a deafening crack. The archer prince curses, drawing a bootknife and defending himself as best he can against the enemies nearest him. Isabela stabs, slashes and stealths her way to the desire demon, who appears to be leading the others in the battle.

"To me!" it cries, its voice unnaturally low and distorted. It waves its arms at its brethren, attempting to direct them. It doesn't notice Isabela until she pops up in front of it.

"I've met your sister," she says conversationally to it as she grabs both of its arms in a one-handed pincer grasp and jerks the creature close to her body. A wicked grin lights her face as she stares into the creature's catlike purple eyes. "She isn't very nice." The demon snarls, but the sound ends in an inhuman scream as Isabela plunges a dagger into its belly and twists it viciously, leaping backwards as it slumps to the ground.

With the strongest demon in the group felled, the others don't last long under our onslaught.

"Demons, temptresses..." Sebastian mutters, looking around at the carnage. "It seems you were right about supernatural forces, Hawke. Do you think they were the ones doing this?" He nudges Isabela's kill with his boot. "Was that the desire demon? It certainly seems to fit the bill."

"No," I answer, shaking my head. "These were too weak to pull off this level of manipulation. I'd say these were only lesser demons trying their luck, drawn through the breach in the Veil caused by the activities of whoever - whatever - is causing this."

Sebastian takes this information in and sets his jaw determinedly. "Then we must see what greater evil they were protecting."

I gesture to the rapidly disintegrating corpse of the weak desire demon. "Likely it will look something like that," I tell him. "It will just be a lot more powerful. And dangerous."

"Not a good time to be without a weapon, then," Sebastian says, glancing ruefully at his broken, smouldering bow.

He's certainly not wrong. I cast my gaze about on the ground, searching among the carcasses of the dead, both human and demonic, trying to see if any of the murdered mercenaries have any weapons on their bodies. A bow would be ideal, obviously, but anything will do, or we'll have to leave it and go back. Sebastian can't go up against a demon unarmed, and if this demon is powerful enough to hold the minds of an entire family in snare at once, we will need his arm.

It appears I will have at least a little luck today. I find a longbow in the grasp of one long dead thug and prise it - quite literally - from his cold dead hands. The string has long since rotten away, but the bow itself appears in working order, strong and limber, elegantly curved from silvered ash. On the side of the sight window, above the grip, a small insignia is carved lovingly into the wood. I recognise this too; the heraldry of Starkhaven.

"Sebastian?" I rise and turn to him, offering the bow in my hands. "I think you'll want to take a look at this."

He takes it from me, examining it closely, and then his eyes widen and he looks sharply up at me. "My grandfather's bow! Where... where did you find this?"

I gesture to the dead man on the floor behind me. "One of the Flint Company mercenaries had it. He and his gang must have taken it as spoils..."

Sebastian's face hardens. "When they infiltrated the palace and murdered my family." The thought seems to fuel his anger and he grips the bow tightly. "If we find a demon at the heart of this, perhaps I can use this bow to exact a measure of my own vengeance." He takes a square of oiled cloth from his waist pouch and uncoils the spare bowstring from within it, restringing the bow in one fluid, easy movement. With two fingers on the string, he draws it back to his ear, and holds it for a moment. "My grandfather's bow," he murmurs quietly, almost below hearing. "Mine, at last."

He lowers his new weapon as Merrill calls to us from where she and Isabela are standing by the far wall. "Over here, Hawke! Look." She waves us over. "There's an opening here, like the wall has been knocked in. There's some sort of tunnel on the other side."

"Looks like it opens into a cavern of some sort," Isabela adds. "But carved, not natural. Looks like this place was built right over some sort of old ruin. A temple or something, maybe?"

"A ruin?" Sebastian frowns, peering through the gap in the wall. "So close to Hightown? I remember no such thing!"

"It must have been uncovered in Lady Harimann's excavations," I say, calling a glowing ball of light into my hand as Merrill does the same, both of us casting our light on the ancient architecture. "The expansion on the mansion Flora mentioned in her diary."

"It appears Johane uncovered something far more sinister," Sebastian comments darkly, drawing an arrow from the quiver on his back and nocking it in his bow. "Let's go see if we can find them."

He leads the way through the stone-paved corridor, which soon ends in a flight of roughly hewn rock steps, in turn giving way to an earthen floor. The tunnel opens out into a wide underground cavern at last, the remains of ancient architecture plainly visible in the crumbling, towering white pillars reaching up from the ground, gleaming starkly against the blackness beyond them. On closer inspection, I see that the pale colour of the columns comes not from the stone of their construction, but from the hundreds upon hundreds of bleached white skulls placed on shelves encircling every one from the ground to the ceiling. I shudder involuntarily, and renew my grip on my staff.

Not a moment too soon. More demons attack, shades and rage demons bursting from the darkness in the corners, their shrieking cries and thundering growls shattering the eerie silence of the ancient crypt. "In the shadows!" Sebastian cries, as yet another wave appears on top of the one already making its howling, screeching way toward us. "More of them!"

Merrill and I raise our staffs in unison. I hear the rasp of metal behind us as Isabela draws her twin daggers from their sheaths, muttering in an irritated and extremely audible undertone as she does so.

"Balls."

* * *

><p>Having fought our way through the labyrinthine corridors of what appears to be the remains of an ancient temple, battling many more creatures and denizens of darkness, skeletons and revenants among them, we are reaching the point of exhaustion. I know I am at least, and I can see it in the eyes of my companions. I glance at Merrill, clasping her hand tightly, and she tries bravely to smile up at me, but her efforts fall flat. As well as multitudes of ancient skeletons, we also found a number of more recent skeletons that Merrill identified as being elven due to their slight build. We surmised that these were the bodies of the slaves mentioned in the pages of Flora's diary, They were not as yellowed with age as the ancient skeletons, with manacles still clasped about their bony limbs. The discovery left a shadow in her eyes which has yet to fade away. We also found the body of a man Sebastian identified as Lady Johane's husband. Late husband, I suppose. No sign of what killed him, which means the cause was probably demonic. Doubtless his soul was drawn into the Fade and ensnared, kept in a dream until his body wasted away. Another life lost to Johane's callous ambition, it seems.<p>

At last we climb a few more steps and come into a part of the ruin far older and of cruder construction than the rest. I step cautiously into the wide, rough stone tunnel, noting the myriad skulls and other remains lying strewn haphazardly across the floor, and wave to the others to follow quietly behind. I can feel the residue of dark magic in this place, growing stronger by the minute as we walk along. From the tension in Merrill's shoulders, she can feel it too. Whatever the cause of this madness, demonic or otherwise, something tells me we will find it at the end of this corridor.

We round a curve and I hold up a hand to signal a halt as my eyes fall on two figures a short distance away, standing before what appears to be an ancient sacrificial altar, decorated with a statue of a horribly ugly creature. One of the old gods, in all likelihood. If so, it explains the age of this place, and the presence of so many dark spirits. The Veil must be thin in such a place as this.

One of the figures, an elderly woman in a dress that was obviously once very fine, raises her hands in supplication to her companion, a horned, familiar sort of being, framed in effervescent violet light. A desire demon. As I thought. Wonderful.

"Starkhaven will not submit!" Johane Harimann declares, anger and irritation suffusing her voice in equal measure. "I put that _idiot_, Goran Vael, into the Prince's seat but the other families won't heed him! I must marry him to Flora and solidify our hold." Her eyes narrow greedily, and she holds out a staff, shaped very much like a mage's staff, though I feel no magical ability in the woman whatsoever. Her voice drops, becoming harsh and sinister. "But I need more power!"

"I've given you much," the demon murmurs in answer, her words soft yet nonetheless carrying down the tunnel towards us. "Your desires run deep. You've already traded your husband and your children. What more can you offer?"

So, Lady Harimann sacrificed the freedom of her spouse and all her children to the creature in exchange for a grasp at a measure of power? Disgusting. Reprehensible. But sadly unsurprising.

"What's the going rate?" I ask, stepping forward with Sebastian at my side, Merrill and Isabela at my back. Lady Harimann spins on her heel to look at me, the demon turning to face me at a far more leisurely pace. I grin irreverently at her. "At the Blooming Rose, fifty silver's standard for a whore."

"And how do you know that, Hawke?" Isabela asks behind me, her tone carrying amusement.

I give her a meaningful glance. "I've been friends with _you_ far too long, that's how."

The demon's full lips twist up in a sultry smile. "You'll hardly find _my_ services standard."

"Who is this?" Lady Harimann cries, grasping her staff. I narrow my eyes in concentration as I stare at it, feeling the power in it from across the room. Lady Harimann is no mage, I can tell that much for certain. It must be something the demon gifted her with, infused with power of its own to be used by anyone, mage or otherwise. "Who are you? How did you get here?" Her eyes widen as she recognises the youngest son of her former friend and murder victim. She gasps, the sound echoing throughout the temple ruins. "Sebastian?!"

He stares at her, cold anger emanating from him in waves. "You were my mother's friend!" he accuses, his blue eyes lit with a fearsome rage. "How could you murder her?"

"Such an ugly word," the demon smirks before Lady Harimann can speak, if indeed she meant to say anything at all. "I prefer, 'removed the only obstacle between her and her dreams'."

Sebastian turns his livid gaze on her, and his mouth twists into a fierce scowl. "This was your idea!"

The desire demon shakes her head slowly, denying his words. "I could create such desires if I wished. But it's far easier to nurture those that already exist," She tilts her head, regarding first Sebastian, then myself, and gives a predatory smile. "The desire for power is easy to find. You and your friend both possess it, do you not? You both wish to rise."

I feel a stab of indignant fury at her comment. "Not if it meant selling out my family!" I retort angrily. Beside me, Merrill nods firmly in agreement.

The demon glances between us in clear amusement. "It would not be the first time," she says slowly, teasingly. Her eyes light on Merrill. "I feel the touch of one of my brethren on you already." Merrill blanches, and looks down at her feet in shame.

Sebastian glares lividly at the creature. "Do not listen to her!"

"Oh, such a pious soul," the demon mocks. "Masking so much ambition. Are you so different from my lady? You yearn for the same lands, the same power."

"I am the rightful heir," Sebastian declares. He jabs a furious finger at Lady Harimann, who recoils, a snarl on her lips. "She is a usurper and murderer!"

"You swore to put aside worldly goods and ambitions," the demon counters, her voice soft and dangerously insidious. "But they couldn't stop you from wanting them."

"Regaining my birthright is hardly the same thing as stealing it from another. And using magic and murder to get it! I would not do such a thing to gain the throne."

"But you want it," the demon presses relentlessly. "You had resigned yourself to letting your brother rule." She waves a hand theatrically before her. "Yet now that seat glitters before you. All those smiles the people saved for your brother. Now you'll be the shining Prince." Sebastian's expression falters, and a pained look of guilt crosses his features. The demon smirks, as though sensing victory. "You've always wanted it. You needn't deny it any longer." She gestures to Lady Harimann beside her, grinning wickedly. "All you have to do is kill anyone in your way..."

The Lady's eyes widen in disbelief at the betrayal, and she raises her staff, backing herself into a corner. "No!" she shouts, and aims her staff at Sebastian, who nocks an arrow in response. "Starkhaven is _mine!_"

I go for the desire demon, encasing her in layers of rock, ice and fire in quick succession, hampering her movements as Merrill whittles her down with bolts of lightning. The creature is powerful, but not anywhere near strong enough to beat us, not even with the waves of demonic lackeys she orders to her side. Isabela darts about the room, taking the heads off shambling skeletons with quick slashes of her trusty blades, and Sebastian deals first with our easily dispatched human adversary, then turns his attention to the shades and other lesser demons and spirits that appear at intervals, drawn by the violence of the battle.

At last there are no more left to kill.

"Maker save me," Sebastian murmurs, staring down at the body of the woman who ordered the deaths of his family, at the arrow in her chest, shot squarely through her heart. "I killed her."

"She deserved it," I remind him, worried by the guilt-ridden look on his face. "You were within your rights to avenge your family."

He raises troubled eyes to mine. "But did I do it for them, or at the demon's behest?"

I grasp his arm, giving him a small shake. "You killed her fairly, Sebastian."

"She made to attack you," Merrill tells him gently. "I saw it. You reacted in self defence first and foremost."

He nods slowly. I'm not certain that we have truly convinced him, but perhaps it will take time. After a moment, he bends down and closes Lady Harimann's sightless eyes respectfully with the tips of his fingers. "May the Maker forgive you," he mutters quietly, and straightens, looking up at us solemnly.

"Let us return to the Chantry," he says quietly. "I must pray for Lady Harimann's soul."

* * *

><p>We traipse back to the Chantry, impeded only by a brief chat with a drained-looking Flora, now freed of the demonic influence on her mind. She had nothing to offer us but apologies and denials of culpability. No new information; nothing we hadn't already surmised, at any rate. Lady Harimann had unearthed the demon during her expansion of the Harimann mansion - completely unauthorised, explaining the use of slaves for undocumented labour - and had been corrupted by the foul creature's promises of the one thing the lady coveted above all else: the throne of Starkhaven. To that end, she had agreed to give the demon the minds of her children and husband to do with as it would, causing them to become obsessed with their deepest innermost desires and acting on them; a veritable feast for a desire demon. Flora pledged the rest of her families resources and fortune to repaying everyone hurt by her mother's actions, and swore to support Sebastian against his opposition in his claim to the throne. We left after making absolutely certain she and her brothers were well enough to take care of themselves, Isabela making her completely understandable excuses and heading for Lowtown before we reached the Chantry steps.<p>

I glance at Sebastian, noting the dark, morose expression on his face and turn to Merrill. "Why don't you go on home, my love?" I suggest quietly. "I think I'd better talk to Sebastian about what happened today. I'll be along in a little while."

"Alright, ma vhenan." Merrill nods in understanding, looking at Sebastian too. "I'd better go and see what sort of trouble Feathers has gotten himself into," she says more loudly. "I'll wait for you at home, Hawke. See you later, Sebastian."

He glances at her and manages to summon a smile. "Until next time, Merrill."

She smiles encouragingly at him in return, and gives a little wave, turning her steps towards home. I walk with Sebastian up the Chantry steps. He glances at me sidelong with a look approaching surprise. "Are you... coming to pray for Lady Harimann, too?" he asks doubtfully.

"No," I reply honestly. "I thought you might need someone to talk to, that's all."

He gives me a long look, and a small smile turns up the corners of his mouth. "I would welcome it."

Once inside the Chantry, Sebastian stands before the towering statue of Andraste, hands clasped before him in prayer for a few long moments, lips moving silently. I stand at the railing a few paces away, waiting.

At last he lowers his hands and turns, walking over to where I stand. He leans beside me, fingers gripping the wooden railing tightly, looking out over the prayer hall below. He seems ready to talk now. "I had hoped prayer might cleanse me of the desire demon's touch," he says to me softly, his voice low and despondent. "But I still hear her voice so clearly. I feel like I've bathed in filth that will never come off."

"You just need to scrub," I tell him with mock seriousness, trying to cheer him with a jest. "Wash behind the ears. Evil usually gets stuck there."

Alright, so it's not my best. It's been a long bloody day.

He smiles at my poor attempt at humour, but the reaction is somewhat forced, not quite reaching his eyes. I give up on jocularity for the moment and try straight talking instead. "You have what you need. The Harimanns won't stand against you," I say, meeting his eyes seriously. "Will you ride back to Starkhaven now? Take up the mantle of Prince once and for all?"

Sebastian shakes his head. "I don't know. Flora said others are still fighting for the title. I should find out who before I go charging in blindly." He sighs, the sound tired and miserable, and lowers his head dejectedly. "In truth, I don't feel as righteous as before."

"You did nothing wrong. You acted honourably," I tell him truthfully. "You stood up to the demon, rejected her attempts to tempt you. Why are you ashamed?"

"Because the demon didn't lie," he answers quietly, his expression pained. "I used to be bitterly jealous of my brother. _I_ wanted to be Prince. Now everything he had is mine. And he lies in ashes." Sebastian's grip on the wood of the railing tightens, and he shifts his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. "I keep asking myself, "Do I want this because it's right, or simply to have what I never thought I could?""

"Aren't you your parents' heir?" I enquire.

Sebastian nods slowly. "I am now. But only by default." He grimaces at my questioning look, apparently loathe to enter into further explanation. "I'm the youngest son of three. My parents were rather traditional. They wanted the heir, and the spare, and I was left out in the cold. They put me in the Chantry to prevent my competing with my brothers."

They 'put' him in the Chantry? I tilt my head at him questioningly. "You seem very dedicated to the Chantry. You were put there against your will?"

He shrugs. "At first. But it was the best thing that could have happened. I was a wild boy, a shame to my family. The Chantry made me a man." He gives a humourless laugh. "It's odd. When I wanted to rule, I would have been terrible at it. Now that I might be decent, I don't know if it's the right thing to do."

I can't say I know anything at all about what it takes to be a good ruler, but I have a feeling worrying about whether you would do a decent job or not is a big part of it. "Listen to your heart," I advise him simply. I very nearly cringe at the banal sentiment, but it's the sort of thing a sentimental fellow like Sebastian needs to hear at this point, I can tell. Which is not to say it isn't still perfectly valid advice. "It's the wisdom not to want power that lets you use it wisely."

"You didn't feel what that demon stirred in me," he counters, his disappointment in himself ringing in every word. "What it found in my heart. I always wanted to rule; first from greed and foolish dreams of glory, but now... I thought I only wanted to take my rightful place in order to fulfil my duty. Now I feel that old, selfish desire within me." He drops his head, shaking it slightly. "It cannot be right to lead any army to Starkhaven with such doubt in my heart." He remains silent a moment longer, then turns to look at me. "I owe you more than I can say, Hawke. I will offer my service to you here before I move on."

"Killing a few hundred more bandits ought to help you make up your mind."

Sebastian chuckles. "You do have a unique way of working out your inner struggles, Hawke."

I smile too. "You owe me nothing," I tell him in all seriousness. "If you want to help me, do it because we're friends."

"You have a good soul, Hawke," Sebastian says. "It was truly the Maker who sent you to me."

"Even though I am..." I raise an eyebrow, raising my hand and wiggling my fingers meaningfully. "...what I am? You don't feel at all compelled to turn me in to the Templars?"

He smiles. "I admit, had I not come to know you before learning you were an..." He glances about and lowers his voice before continuing. "... apostate mage, I likely would have done as the Chantry demands. But knowing what sort of person you are, having witnessed the good you've done, I have come to believe that Kirkwall is far better off if you are not behind bars. It is the Maker's will that you have remained free thus far. Who am I to deny Him?"

I refrain from scoffing at his words, deciding that I will allow his convoluted religious logic to work for me for the moment. As long as I can trust him not to report me and have me dragged off in the middle of the night to a cold heartless cell, he can believe whatever he likes.

"I'd be happy to call on you when I need your arm, Sebastian," I tell him. "And your aim. But only if you're sure." At his confused look, I elaborate. "You swore an oath to serve the Chantry. Now that your family is avenged, don't you feel compelled to honour your vows?"

"Andraste herself said the highest grace is to honour our parents," he answers after a few moment's solemn contemplation. "Our first loyalty is to our roots. I am my father's only surviving son, and the only direct descendant of the Vael line. Do I honour the vow I made when my duty was only to keep myself from complicating the line of succession, or do I do my duty by my family and our people by retaking my rightful place on the throne, now that my family's circumstances have... changed?" He spreads his hands, a helpless, uncertain gesture. "Am I fit to hold either duty? It is not so simple a decision." He sighs, and then straightens, looking me firmly in the eye. "Enough of this. I will make no decision today. Until I decide one way or the other, I will be here to assist you as needed, Hawke."

"Very well." I nod my head at the longbow slung on his back. "At least you got a small piece of your family back today."

"Yes," he agrees, casting a fond glance over his shoulder at it. "I don't think I thanked you for finding it, Hawke."

I shrug modestly. "No thanks necessary. It was your grandfathers, as you said. It belongs to you now."

"It does indeed." He reaches up and touches the bow stave almost reverently, then drops his hand, a conflicted expression crossing his face. "It's... hard to mourn the loss of a thing while my family lies dead. But I did think of it."

"What's the story behind that bow?" I ask him curiously. It seems to mean a great deal to him. I'd very much like to take this opportunity to get to know my friend a little better.

"As the youngest son it was my task to lead the city's militia. But I was never much good at swordplay," he answers, and grins wryly. "Too much getting hit. My grandfather said the bow is the wise man's weapon. You can defend your city from its walls without opening the gates. Grandfather said the day I could pull the string on his bow, it would be mine."

"So the bow is yours?" I frown in confusion. "Then why didn't you have it with you?"

Sebastian lifts an eyebrow briefly, apparently surprised by the question. "I was thirteen when my grandfather made me that promise," he explains. "I would rise at dawn every day to practice my shots 'til I could hit the eye slit of a helmet from the top of the ramparts. But... my parents pledged me to the Chantry before I could show him. But he would want to keep his word. I drew the bow today, so it is mine."

There is such fondness of his voice when he speaks of his grandfather, the former ruler of Starkhaven. Sebastian must have really looked up to him a great deal. "Tell me of your grandfather. Were you close?"

"He was a man of the world," Sebastian answers, a nostalgic, wistful note in his voice. His eyes are faraway, lost in memories. "Prince of Starkhaven. But he had the most unshakeable faith in the Maker. When my parents threatened to pledge me to the Chantry, he told me he would gladly trade his title for a life of contemplation. 'The Maker ordained a place for each of us,' I remember him saying. 'We have only to serve.'"

That goes a long way to explaining Sebastian's devotion to the Chantry, as well. Religious views aside, Sebastian's grandfather sounds like a good man, a good ruler. "I wish I could have helped," I tell Sebastian softly. "I'm sorry I never got a chance to meet them. To... save them."

The heir-claimant to the Starkhaven throne favours me with a warm smile. "I know. You're a true friend, Hawke. Thank you." He touches his grandfather's bow again, running his fingers down the smooth grain of the wood. "I will keep this and use it well, to remember and honour my family and all those who lost their lives defending them." He drops his hand and meets my eyes, utter sincerity in their deep blue depths. "But if I could bring back our lowest servant by snapping it in half, I'd do it. Without regrets."

If only the nobles here cared as much for the people who are meant to be under their protection and care. I smile at Sebastian. "And you have doubts as to whether you will make a good leader for your people?" He gives me a confused look, and I feel my smile widen a little as I wave, turning towards the stairs. "Farewell, Sebastian. Get some rest."

He nods solemnly. "And you, Hawke. Thank you for everything."

* * *

><p>"What does she say, Hawke?"<p>

I smile at Merrill where she sits by the hearth, gently stroking the head of the sleeping Feathers with one hand and smoothing the brindled pelt of my sweet snoring hound with the other, both animals curled up to either side of her. I hold up Mother's latest letter, arrived just this afternoon. "Why don't you come and read it with me?" I offer enticingly, patting my knee, silently willing her to come sit with me in my armchair before the fire. She smiles and complies, settling herself comfortably in my lap, pressing a soft kiss to my lips before dropping her eyes to the page of elegant script in my hand. We read my mother's words quietly together, and Merrill raises her head as we finish, her eyes shining delightedly.

"They're coming home!" she exclaims, smiling. "Oh, wonderful!" She cuddles into me as I fold the letter and tuck it into a pocket of my house robe. "We should do something nice to celebrate. I have no idea what, though."

"Perhaps I could make them a cake?" I suggest, and Merrill twists her head up to smile at me, a gleam of excitement in her eyes.

"Oh, yes!" she replies eagerly. "And you'll let me help you, won't you, Hawke?"

"Of course I will," I grin at her playfully. "You can lick the spoon."

She laughs, tilting her face up to me for a kiss, and I oblige her happily, butterflies swirling madly in my stomach at the touch of her soft lips. I love that she continues to have that effect on me. My beautiful, darling little elf.

Merrill draws her legs up, curling them beneath her as she resettles herself in my lap. "Are you comfortable, my love?" I enquire gently.

She smiles, and gives me another soft kiss. "Of course, ma vhenan. Very. Always." She raises a cheeky eyebrow at me. "Though I must admit, I would very much like to have you sit in_ my_ lap for a change sometime."

I feel my own brows lift at her words. "Me? Sit in your tiny elven lap? I'd crush you!"

Merrill laughs, shaking her head at me fondly. "Oh no you won't, my silly Hawke. I'm not that delicate, you know. And you certainly aren't that big." She gives me a considering look. "You're a little taller than me, true, but you're really quite small, all things considered. For a human, anyway."

I give her a dubious look, and she returns me an earnest, wide eyed expression. "Really, you are! You're smaller than Isabela, and _much _shorter than Aveline, after all."

"That may be so," I admit, smiling. "But you're tiny even for an elven woman. And anyway, everyone is shorter than Aveline."

An appreciative giggle bursts from Merrill's throat, and she cuddles even closer into me, sounding increasingly sleepy as she replies. "If you think _I'm _tiny, you should see Mahariel."

"I'd very much like to, one day," I muse softly, running my fingers gently through the silky strands of Merrill's soft hair as she rests her head against my shoulder, her face nestled in the curve of my throat. Meet the Hero of Ferelden in person? Who wouldn't want that? Apart from Darkspawn, I suppose. And bandits, and what have you.

"Maybe you're smaller because you had an elf somewhere in your family," Merrill murmurs quietly, almost to herself. A shuddering yawn breaks into the middle of her next sentence. "That could be why you're... so... small..."

I smile in some amusement; I didn't think I was all_ that_ small, personally. Not that I would object to an elven ancestor, far from it. "It's possible, I suppose," I reply thoughtfully after a moment's thought. "Not on my mother's side, I don't think. Not recently, anyway. The Amell line can be traced back for centuries, so she tells me. But the Hawkes? Maker only knows." I shrug with the shoulder not currently in use as a pillow. "There was so much my father never told us about himself, or his family, if he had one. Who's to say I don't have some elven blood in me? I rather think I would like that. What do you think, love?"

Merrill doesn't respond.

"My heart?" I whisper softly. I look down, her deep, regular breathing letting me know what I will see even as I rest my eyes on her lovely face.

She has fallen fast asleep. _Oh, my dear, sweet little heart. _

Well, it has been a busy day, after all. One in a lengthy string of them. She's earned the right to a good long sleep. I smile as I watch her, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her chest against me as I cradle her in my arms. Yes, she has the right of it, I think. I lift her carefully, lovingly, still smiling as I press my lips gently to her temple, then carry her into our bedroom like a sleeping child.

A good, long sleep. Maker, yes. That doesn't sound like a bad idea at all.

* * *

><p>There, sorry again for the delay! As always I'll make minor changes to the chapter because I compulsively check my story for mistakes (and somehow am constantly finding more, despite proof reading and spellcheck) but at least it's finished, finally. I'll try to be quicker next time, I promise. Life does keep happening, though.<p>

Also thanks to Demonhedgehog for the phrase "poncy nug-licker", loved it!

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

maximasdecimas


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

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><p><span><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE<strong>

Hello! Sorry, I know it's been ages. I've been so busy! New job, moving house, blossoming romance, you know how it is. But here is the next chapter! Sorry if there are mistakes, there's bound to be, but please don't pay me out too hard over them. I'm very tired. If anything's wrong I'll fix it up later, sometime. I won't promise to be quicker next time. I suck at that. But I've already started the next chapter, so that's encouraging right? Right? Well, whatever. I don't get paid for this. It's just for funzies. Enjoy!

P.S. I would just like to share something with you that happened here in Australia in December. Our smallest territory, the ACT (seat of Parliament House) was successful in passing a bill that allowed same-sex marriages to be legal within that territory. This was immediately appealed by the Commonwealth. And after just five days, during which time over 30 couples tied the knot (whose marriages have now been annulled by the law change), the bill was unanimously overturned in the High Court. The one good thing, if you want to call it that, to come out of this is that they also ruled that Federal Parliament has power under the Australian Constitution to legislate with respect to same-sex marriage, and that under the Constitution and federal law as it now stands, whether same-sex marriage should be provided for by law is a matter for the Federal Parliament. Which means it could still happen at a Federal level, as I understand it, and tells our current government that they can in fact allow it constitutionally (whereas before they were arguing they couldn't). But the fact that they chose to appeal it at all (after claiming before the bill was put forward that they simply didn't have the time to deal with the issue) is in my opinion saddening and a deep disappointment, though unsurprising from the conservative party. You know what they say; Principalities are ruled by princes, kingdoms are ruled by kings, and right now our country is ruled by a bunch of frigging [EXPLETIVE DELETED].

Anyway. Enjoy! And hope for the best, for all of us. Equality for all! And yay for Google sticking it to the Olympics and Russia! And yay to the German team, did you see their rainbow-theme uniforms? Awesome show of solidarity and quiet protest, even if officials can't officially admit it. Good on them! Same for everyone else doing the same thing. Bravi!

* * *

><p>xxx M xxx<p>

* * *

><p>The silken banners that hang from the walls of Hightown are so pretty, dancing in the brisk autumn breeze and gleaming in the sun. There are people everywhere, weaving happily between the pillars and trees before the Keep or wandering aimlessly through the streets, human and elf and dwarf. Noble, merchant and common folk alike, all enjoying the last few days of light and warmth before winter tightens its fearsome grip on Kirkwall. A rare sense of calm and quiet seemed to fill the air when Hawke and I awoke today. Like the whole city was peaceful and happy, for a change. The perfect morning for a nice bit of fresh air.<p>

Or it started out that way, at least.

"So come on, Daisy," Varric wheedles, his friendly nudging elbow poking me just a little too hard as he misses a step and stumbles on the polished cobblestones. He raises a gloved hand to smother a rather impressive burp as he catches himself, then grins up at me, his twinkling eyes still more than a little clouded by the flagon or so of ale in his belly. "A stallion's reward", or so he told Hawke and me cheekily when we found him snoring inside an empty barrel outside the Blooming Rose this morning. "After a long night of hard riding."

I wish I didn't know what he meant by that...

A passing serving woman headed for the market spares a disdainful glance at Varric - well, all three of us, probably - as we half drag, half carry him along the well-kept avenue. He winks at her and grins as she turns away with a look of distaste on her pale powdered face, drawing her woven basket close as though he might snatch it from her grasp, rogue that he obviously is. "Tell me," he insists again, turning his attention back to us. "You can trust me, I swear. I can be as quiet as a Chantry mouse." He burps again, loudly.

Hawke exchanges an amused look with me, supporting Varric's other side as we struggle through the streets towards the mansion. "Nothing I've ever heard, religious rodent or otherwise, has a snore as loud as yours, my friend."

Varric gives her a wounded look. "When dealing in secrets and my friends' intimate interests, I am as silent as the grave."

"Well, of course you are, Varric," I say dubiously. "That would be why there is currently a few score copies of a certain serial floating about in Lowtown." I raise a brow at him. "_Tails of Passion: The Kitten and the Hawk, Volume I_. Sound familiar?"

My dwarven friend opens his red-rimmed eyes wide, trying very unconvincingly to look as innocent as possible. "Never heard of it," he declares. "It's not my work."

Hawke looks at me over the top of his unkempt head. "You know, Merrill, I think he's telling the truth," she tells me solemnly. "Isabela leant me a copy and I really don't think it could be Varric's." She presses her lips together a little, clearly suppressing a smile. "Awful stuff. Rife with plot holes and spelling errors. And bad puns. I mean, '_Tails_ of passion?'" She winks at me. "Just terrible!"

Varric's eyebrows draw together. "It is not!"

A triumphant grin lights Hawke's face. "Aha!"

The dwarf peers up at her in obvious confusion for a moment as his drink-dulled wits try to work out what she did and then he grins, beaten. "Alright, you caught me," he chuckles. "Wouldn't have fallen so easily for that cheap trick if I could keep my thoughts from spinning about my head." He gives it a shake and then groans, blinking fast as we step from the shadows of the alley into the square before the magnificent towering Keep. "Really, though, I'm just curious," he insists, his words a little less slurred. This exercise, if you could call it that, must be doing him some good. "What were you two doing at the Rose? I haven't seen either of you there before, just the two of you. Were you looking to... spice things up a little?" He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Hawke breathes a laugh. "No spice needed," she informs him. Quite truthfully, I think to myself, feeling my pulse quicken as I share a smile with her. "We were just taking a morning walk. The Rose is not too far from my estates, as I'm sure you've made careful note of."

"Ah, but why go into a known den of debauchery?" Varric asks cunningly, sounding very much as though he thinks he's caught Hawke in a misstep. Honestly I don't know what cause we've ever given him to believe we would go there. Not for the actual... brothel part, anyway. I know he and Isabela go there quite a lot, and maybe some of the others do too. I don't think there's really anything wrong with that, but Hawke and I really don't need to, why would we? We have each other. I've only ever been in there with Hawke when we needed to speak to someone, and I spent most of the time trying not to touch anything. We only stopped by this morning because Hawke wanted to do a favour for the Hanged Man's barkeep.

Varric trips over his bootlaces as we cross towards the mansion, and I tighten my grip on his arm. He looks up at Hawke, heedless. "Why go into the red lantern district at all, if not for a bit of fun? Hmm?"

"I was returning a shawl to a certain lady at the Rose," Hawke answers him easily. "Corff asked me to take it back to her, but couldn't quite tell me why he had it." She grins. "For a worldly barman who must surely have seen and heard enough carousing, bawdy tales and jokes from his patrons over the years, he certainly did blush as prettily as a maiden when I teased him about the girl in question."

Varric guffaws knowingly. "Oh, little Mais Dalesdottir, then. She must have left it behind after her last visit to the Hanged Man. Corff's half in love with the girl, you know."

"More than half, by the look in his eyes when he spoke of her," I put in, feeling more than a little sorry for the fellow. He must know she was only doing her job. "Poor man."

"Lucky for you we did come by, Varric," I tell him as we round the corner and come in sight of home at last. Time to get some water in him and let him rest in one of the guest rooms. I wrinkle my nose as the smell of sour ale hits my nose, as well as a few other less appealing scents. "Else the guard would have thrown you in the stocks for a few hours."

"Eh." Varric shrugs his shoulders and I very nearly stumble as my hold on his muscular arm slips a little. "Our good friend Aveline would have let me out sooner or later."

"Later, most likely," Hawke tells him wryly. "Remember Isabela's last duel? The one that started in the Hanged Man, evolved into a bar brawl, and then ended up a riot in the Lowtown Market with more than twenty people injured-"

"And a lot of squawking, angry merchants with damaged goods," Varric finishes, chuckling. "I remember. I lost a bet to Fenris that Rivaini would win. She and that sailor were still going at it hammer and tongs even when the trinket stall caught fire." He grimaces a little. "She would have won if the guard hadn't shown up to put a stop to the fighting, but since the fight was over before the duel was done, the elf claimed his coin. '_The fight was broken up before a victor emerged. You bet that Isabela would win, yet she did not. No one did,_'" Varric mimes in his best imitation of Fenris' gravelly voice. "'_Whereas I bet that she would not win, not that her opponent would defeat her.' _Broody bastard should be in politics. I lost ten sovereigns."

"And Isabela spent two weeks in the brig for her transgression," Hawke reminds him. "Friends with the Guard-Captain and all. Aveline doesn't stand for anyone disrupting the order of Kirkwall. Even the nobles get taken in if they're caught out being drunk and disorderly in the street."

"Point taken." Varric chuckles to himself. "Perhaps Captain Two-shoes should pay a visit to the Rose herself, and not on guard business," he muses to himself. "Might do her a bit of good. She could pay someone to pull the stick out of her ass!" He laughs uproariously at his own joke, and a nearby nobleman glances irritably in our direction. "Maybe you could convince her to go," Varric continues loudly. "You and Merrill. We'll all go! Make a night of it. Come on, you two. You don't have to hire any of the girls, just ask for a room and some of their outfits. Role-play! Princess and chambermaid. Grand Cleric and novice Sister. Templar and apostate- no, wait, that's no good for you. I forgot."

"Varric!" Hawke hisses, her eyes widening in alarm.

Varric pays her no mind, snapping his fingers. "I've got it! The Warden and the Bard. That's a good one." I blanch at the mere suggestion of using my old childhood friend's life and identity in such a way. Varric waggles his eyebrows at me, apparently oblivious to my discomfort. "Spice it up. You can never have... too much... spice." He hiccups and stumbles over his feet again. Hawke drags him up, eyeing the nobleman who is now staring openly at us, a sneer of distaste on his lips.

"Varric," I plead. "We're nearly there. Please, just stop talking about that now. And if you would, please don't embellish any of this."

"I promise you, Daisy," Varric lies with well-feigned sincerity. "I won't make this into a story." He grins happily. "Certainly not one involving the both of you, a pair of nugs, a pot of honey and the bad girl special."

Hawke gives a heavy sigh, glancing back over her shoulder at the disapproving noble as we heave our drunken durgen'len friend into the entrance hall. "Wonderful."

Taking Varric's weight upon herself, Hawke dumps him unceremoniously onto one of the wooden waiting-benches in the entrance hall while I poke my head around the corner to look for Bodahn, meaning to ask if he and Sandal wouldn't mind putting Varric in one of the guestrooms to sleep off his drink for a bit. But he isn't in the parlour. Nor is Sandal, nor Leandra or Feathers or the dog, even.

The room isn't empty, though...

My heart lurches a little at the startling sight of the armour-clad figure standing by the far wall. Who...? The sudden tension in my shoulders eases all at once as I recognise the familiar loose tail of bright red hair at the back of the intruder's head where she leans on the writing desk, steel-encased hands braced to either side of her as though studying a battle plan. Aveline! How odd, that we were just now talking of her and here she is, almost as if she heard about us talking about Varric being arrested for being drunk in the streets and came to get him. That can't really be why she's here, though, I don't think. She was here already, before we came in.

"Aveline?" Hawke enquires, announcing our presence as she comes to the doorway. The wary look in her eyes is replaced in quick succession by relief as she recognises our friend, then wry annoyance at just how at home Aveline seems to be making herself, glancing at Hawke's papers and things on the desk. Much as Isabela does. Aveline would be chagrined to realise that, I think. Although, Isabela would be far more casually invasive of Hawke's privacy, much more likely to paw through it all, reading anything and everything in search of juicy gossip rather than just letting her eyes roam as she waits, as Aveline is doing.

The Guard-Captain doesn't give so much as a start before she responds to Hawke's query. "Hello, Hawke. Merrill." She doesn't even turn her head. Likely she heard us coming, I suppose. She straightens up from the desk and turns to face us, an almost apologetic smile on her lips. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to intrude. Bodahn let me in." She shrugs. "I would have come back later but he assured me he didn't think you would be long. Then Leandra came to greet me and all but ordered me to make myself at home and wait for you. I couldn't say no."

"You mean you _daren't_ say no," Hawke grins, stepping forward to clasp Aveline's forearm in greeting.

"You're not wrong," Aveline replies, a sparkle of amusement in her eye. "I know when a command is not to be disobeyed."

"And just where is my dear mother, the formidable General Amell?" Hawke asks, glancing about.

"She said something about getting tea," Aveline smiles. "Sandal and Bodahn insisted on helping. Apparently there is a brew Bodahn bought from their old trading contacts in Ostwick that I simply have to try, and Sandal seems to think that Leandra won't be able to prepare it all on her own. Not without his help. They all seem to have thoroughly enjoyed their journey together."

"Oh yes," Hawke laughs. "True companions of the road, now. Sometimes it's a little hard not to feel excluded from this newfound bond the three of them seem to share." She glances at the scattered papers on the desk behind Aveline, then gives her a quizzical look. "Where you looking for anything in particular? I keep all the sauciest scrolls on a high shelf in my reading room."

Aveline gives a small chuckle and an slightly embarrassed shrug. "Oh, no. I'm sorry Hawke, I assure you I was not trying to pry into your personal correspondence-"

"No-o," hiccups Varric loudly and unexpectedly from the doorway. "That's Isabela's job!"

We all turn to find him leaning heavily against the frame, squinting in the firelight. "Guard-Captain," he greets her with over-exaggerated formality, slurring his words a little. His voice is rather louder than necessary. "I'd come in and exchange pleasantries with you at a more convenient distance, but I fear I may fall down."

Aveline barely bats an eyelid. "Morning, Varric," she replies pleasantly, though she does place a slight emphasis on the word 'morning'. In a lower aside to Hawke she adds, "I don't want to know where you found him, but I do appreciate you bringing him here before any trouble came of it. The last time I was forced to put him in the brig until he sobered, he complained about it for weeks afterward." She gives Hawke a knowing look.

"Bodahn!" Varric suddenly shouts in a passable imitation of Hawke's accent, if not her gentle tones. "Where are you? Assistance is required in the parlour. At once, my good man!"

"I do _not_ sound like that," Hawke mutters in mild irritation. "Do I?"

Her query goes unanswered as Bodahn bustles in at last, Feathers prancing happily at his heels, snapping playfully at one undone buckle on the side of Bodahn's boot. Bodahn looks a little flustered, poor man. Feathers' mabari nurse-maid trots in after them both, casually picking up Feathers by the scruff of his fluffy little neck and prying him away from Bodahn's feet, walking a few paces before depositing him between his own paws, watching over the cowed youngster with a fond eye. Bodahn breathes a very quiet sign of relief, then turns to us. "Ah, welcome home, Messere!" he greets Hawke, his friendly smile warming his face as he beams around at us. "I was just assisting your mother in the kitchen. I'm sorry I wasn't here to greet you, You have a guest! Though I daresay you can see that for yourself!" He chuckles to himself. "How was your walk?"

"A little more eventful than we anticipated, Bodahn," Hawke replies wryly, turning to indicate the drink-sodden dwarf leaning in the doorway. "We found Varric a little worse for wear. Would you mind seeing him to a guest room? I think he could do with a lie down. And perhaps some water."

"Right. And I doubt very much if a wash would hurt either," Bodahn says, more to himself than anyone else as he eyes Varric up and down with clear disapproval. He sighs, and crosses the parlour to Varric. "Right then, come on lad," he says not unkindly as he slings Varric's arm across his shoulders and helps him along. "Let's see if we can't make you feel a bit better, eh? And make you presentable while we're at it. Sandal? Sandal my boy, I need you!"

"If you could keep this from Gen- Mistress Amell for a while, I'd appreciate it!" Hawke calls after him. "At least until Varric is a little more sober." Bodahn nods over his shoulder to her as the two dwarves pass out of sight behind the parlour door. Hawke turns back to us with a small, weary sigh. "Mother would not be pleased to know a drunken scoundrel is sleeping off his wine in her ancestral home," she says to Aveline. "Not that she doesn't like Varric of course, but she would not approve of his current condition, certainly not at this hour. And given his behaviour on the way here I wouldn't put it past him to make some sort of bawdy comment about Merrill and I in her presence to amuse himself." She exchanges a meaningful look with me.

Aveline looks amused. "It sounds like he gave you an interesting time on the walk here."

"That's certainly one way of putting it," I agree dryly.

She shakes her head fondly in the direction Bodahn and Varric went, laughing softly. "Ah, Varric. I swear to Andraste, half the trouble my guards and I have to deal with in this mad city has him at its root."

"Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?" Hawke asks as our laughter dies down. "Not that I'm not pleased to see you, but home visits are something of a rare occurrence."

"There is something," Aveline confirms, "but that can wait a moment." She gestures to the writing desk behind her. "I'm curious about this."

I peer at her in confusion. "About the writing desk?" I ask, and then curse myself silently for a fool as I realise she is talking about the sword lying on top of it, the gift from Xenon that Hawke can't decide what to do with. I'd all but forgotten about it. I shake my head at her as Aveline opens her mouth to reply. "No, no, sorry. You meant the sword, I know. I really need to learn to think things through before I speak," I mutter half to myself. Hawke gives a small chuckle, wrapping her arm about my shoulders in a brief, fond hug.

Aveline lifts the blade and examines it with a professional eye, much in the same way Hawke did when it first came. "A fine longsword." She turns her gaze on Hawke, one eyebrow lifted in question. "An odd possession for a mage. Where did you get it?" She pauses, and a soft note of hesitation fills her voice. "Was it Carver's?"

"No," Hawke replies with a shake of her head. "It was sent to me by Xenon the Antiquarian, who owns that Emporium in Darktown, you know..."

"The magic shop, yes." Aveline gives a small smile. "The one I'm not to worry about or perform raids on or tell the Templars about." She gestures to Feathers. "Where you got this little fellow from, right?" Noticing her attention on him, Feathers immediately attacks her armoured boot. Her smile widens as she looks down at him, stirring him a little with her foot before gently extricating herself. The big mabari gives a gruff bark of warning as Feathers prepares himself to pounce on her again, wriggling his little hindquarters. The little griffon starts with a squawk at the noise, glancing over his shoulder, then quickly loses interest and trots over to me, mewling loudly until I pick him up and shush him. He snuggles into my chest.

"The very same," Hawke answers with a smile of her own. "He sent the blade to me as a sort of peacemaking gesture after what happened to us down in his shop. I've no idea what to do with it. Truth be told, I keep forgetting about it."

"But why send you a sword?" Aveline asks, a frown of confusion creasing her brows. "He knows you are a mage, doesn't he?"

Hawke shrugs. "He says it belonged to the Hero of Ferelden." Aveline glances at her sharply. and looks back at the blade with renewed respect. "He wrote that it was imbued with enchantments, but I still don't see why he thinks that would be useful to me," Hawke continues, and then gives a light laugh. "Perhaps he meant for me to have the sword so that I wouldn't be defenceless if ever I am deprived of my magic again. It seems a little foolish, though."

Aveline arches an eyebrow. "A mage being able to fight with physical weapons against soldiers trained to suppress the abilities of magic users seems quite a sensible idea to me, Hawke."

Hawke looks taken back for a moment. "I suppose I would think so too," she replies after a brief pause. "If I knew how to wield a sword well enough to defend myself."

"Your father was a capable swordsman, by what you've told me of him," Aveline comments. "Your brother too. Do you know nothing at all of swordplay?"

Hawke gives Aveline another small shrug. "Well, Father had me train with them sometimes when he was teaching Carver, before he got him formal training in Lothering with the Bann's army. I know enough tricks with a small blade such as a belt knife or dagger to defend myself, or someone else, against an attacker, or even a group of them." Her eyes flick in my direction, the ghost of a memory within their liquid sapphire depths. "But beyond that, nothing. I've certainly never fought with one."

The Captain of the Guard nods thoughtfully, then in one quick move abruptly tosses the sword to Hawke, who catches it by the hilt as though by instinct, then looks at her hand in surprise.

"Good reflexes," Aveline says approvingly. "A fine start." She draws her own weapon from the sheath on her back and raises it in front of her, adopting a defensive stance. "Guard up, mage."

Hawke just stares at her, as mystified as I am. By all the gods, what is going on?

"Aveline?" I ask in alarm. Feathers blinks up at me and squawks, sensing my disquiet, I suppose. Or maybe I'm squeezing him too hard. I loosen my grip on him, keeping my eyes on Aveline. "What are you doing?"

"Training session," Aveline replies simply. "Step back, Merrill. Hawke, pay attention."

Hawke stands still, blinking at Aveline in confusion. "But I'm a mage. My power and fighting ability is one of mana and spirit energy. Why in the name of the Maker would I need to train with a sword-?"

Aveline lunges, almost scoring a hit, but Hawke blocks her just in time, though with difficulty. Her blue eyes narrow in surprise, and a little outraged indignation. "Hey!" she protests.

Aveline shrugs unapologetically, bringing her sword up again. "It doesn't matter how strong your spirit is if your body is full of holes." She thrusts forward again, and Hawke parries. "Instinct serves you well," Aveline says approvingly. "Or do you serve it?"

"I haven't decided," Hawke replies, eyes sparkling as she warms to the challenge. She meets Aveline's next swing and strikes in return. Aveline blocks her easily and Hawke grins, her face alight with enjoyment and concentration. Creators, she looks... very compelling with a sword in her hand. Brave and strong, noble and fierce...

A low sigh escapes my throat, too soft for the two combatants to hear. At least so I would have thought but Hawke falters for an instant, glancing at me in distraction. Only an instant, but Aveline's blade flashes expertly, nicking the top of Hawke's arm

Hawke gasps, stepping back as her hand flies to her shoulder. "_Ah!_"

"Keep in the moment, or you'll never have another," Aveline grins, raising her blade. "It's just a scratch. Defensive stance, girl! Guard!"

Hawke brings her blade up and moves forward with startling speed and grace as Aveline strikes, blocking her swings with far more ease and confidence. I bite my lip and stay quiet this time, not wanting to distract Hawke again. Feathers and I watch them spar back and forth for a few dozen heartbeats, the thrusts and parries coming faster and faster until a familiar voice breaks through the ringing notes of clashing steel, stopping Hawke and Aveline in their tracks.

"I don't know how many times I had to tell your father and your brother; unless it's Templars, thieves or darkspawn, _no fighting inside the house!_" Leandra scolds from the doorway, her voice gentle but firm. She turns her stern gaze on Hawke, who lowers her blade to her side, the echo of a chastised child in her face as she meets her mother's eyes guiltily. "I never thought I'd have to say that to _you_, young lady."

"My apologies, Leandra," Aveline says, sheathing her sword. A smile plays around the corners of her mouth. "It was a spur of the moment occurrence, it won't happen again."

"I've no strenuous objection to swordplay," Leandra informs her with a smile. "But such activities belong outdoors, don't you think?"

"Indeed," Aveline replies. "We should continue this later, either in your courtyard or at the barracks, Hawke." She looks at my Hawke, standing dishevelled and beautiful in the middle of the room, Vigilance clasped easily in her fingers as if the blade was made for her hand. "You've a real natural talent for this, you know," Aveline informs her thoughtfully. "A warrior born. It's a wonder your father didn't dedicate time to train you as he did Carver. He would have seen your gift, surely."

"He would have taught her," Leandra says quietly, surprising us all. "But when her magic manifested, he decided that it should take priority over the sword. He wanted her to put all her concentration into learning to control her abilities, and felt that for her to try to master two disciplines at once would hinder her progress." She looks directly at Hawke and I follow her gaze. Hawke seems as taken aback by this information as Aveline and I are. "Given our circumstances at the time, his decision was sensible," Leandra continues, almost apologetically. "And I agreed with him. I thought it was far better for you to be able to concentrate only on your mastering your magic and learning how to avoid the notice of Templars altogether than to risk accidental exposure and have to watch my half-trained children cross blades with experienced Chantry soldiers."

"I understand," Hawke replies with a reassuring smile. "Put that way, it certainly makes sense."

"You can still start learning now," Aveline tells her. There's an eager gleam in her eyes, I think. She'd probably really enjoy teaching swording - sword_play_ - to Hawke. She does like training her new guardsmen and women, after all. And I can see how it might be fun for her, since she would be much better at swordplay than Hawke. For a little while, anyway. Hawke is a _very _fast learner, after all. "Your natural affinity for blade work will help you to learn the basics you would have learned in childhood training far quicker than most raw beginners."

Leandra looks a little troubled by this, but I agree with Aveline. "It would be good to learn, ma vhenan," I add supportively, both for Leandra's benefit and hers. "You could fight without magic sometimes then, which would be safer when there's people about so they won't see your magic. Or if you were attacked by Templars and your magic was suppressed, you would be able to simply draw your sword and keep fighting them anyway. Imagine the looks on their faces!" Hawke looks down at the blade in her hand, a smile appearing on her face as my words paint a picture in her head. From the corner of my eye, I see a thoughtful nod from Leandra as the idea hits home. "And I might ask Isabela to teach me some dagger tricks," I muse thoughtfully, my hand on the knife at my belt. Mahariel's hunting blade. "It couldn't hurt. Well, that is, it would hurt whoever I was knifing of course, but I mean it wouldn't hurt _me_. Unless I knifed myself of course. Maybe I'm too clumsy to learn. I hope not..."

Hawke laughs, placing the sword down on the writing desk and enveloping me in a hug. "Alright," she says when she lets go. "I agree. If there comes a time when my magic fails again, a more mundane form of self defence would be more than useful. Carrying an alternate weapon might help alleviate suspicion on us as mages, too." She looks at Aveline. "I'd be very grateful for your help, if you think I'll have time enough to learn."

"There's always time to learn," Aveline smiles. "And if there isn't, make time. I'll see about setting up training for you at the barracks, and get back to you."

"Will you be staying for a while, Aveline?" Leandra asks politely. "I think the kettle should be just about finished boiling now, if you'd like a cup."

The Guard-Captain smiles. "Thank you, no. I won't stay long."

"Very well, my dear. It was good to see you." Leandra raises a questioning brow at Hawke and I. "Anything for you two?"

I shake my head as Hawke replies, "No thank you, Mother."

Leandra nods. "Alright. I'd best get back. Sandal will want to help me pour the water and I've got to make sure he remembers not to touch the kettle with his bare hands like last time, poor boy." She turns with a graceful whisper of satin and makes her way down the corridor. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything."

Feathers, whose tufted ears perked up at the word "kitchen", wriggles excitedly in my arms, and I put him down. He gambols along the hall in pursuit of Leandra, flapping his wings every other step, unconsciously exercising them to build his flight muscles. I wonder how big he'll have to get before he can fly? Will he be able to figure it out on his own, with no one around to teach him how? Could we help him, maybe? I sigh quietly. I suppose we'll all just have to figure it out along the way.

Aveline laughs softly as my little fellow bounces out of sight, the poor old hound trailing dutifully after him, then looks around approvingly at the room, green eyes taking in every detail of the fine mansion, the tapestries, paintings, and sundry little touches and finishes Hawke has given the place over time to make it her own. "You've settled in nicely," she comments.

Hawke follows her gaze and shrugs. "It's been hard work to get here," she replies, and grins. "Bounty from a good combination of luck... and skill."

"Indeed." Aveline shifts her weight, giving Hawke a measuring look. "And could not have come to anyone more deserving," she judges quietly. I look up at my blushing Hawke proudly in silent agreement, and Aveline brushes over the unexpected praise as she continues rather more brusquely. "Still, more coin never hurts, right? Say, if someone wanted to pass some work your way...?"

Hawke's eyes brighten with interest. "I'm listening, Aveline." I can't help but smile at the eager note in her voice. Not for the coin, she's not bothered about that. But she has been itching for something to do, lately. "What's the trouble?"

"Someone's trying to be a guard," Aveline replies, annoyance in her eyes. "Poorly. Remember Emeric? The templar who wanted your help investigating the disappearances of some young women. He thought they were connected somehow, though we found no solid evidence to support it."

"I remember," Hawke replies slowly. I remember him too, I think. An older sort of man, not quite past his prime but getting there. He was looking for some women who had vanished mysteriously, a mage and an Orlesian nobleman's wife. We investigated for him, and found little but a ring, a sack of bones. Suspicious, but not conclusive, really. Hawke did think she saw someone running away when we found them, and we were attacked by shades soon after... but that doesn't necessarily mean it was connected. Not in Kirkwall, anyway. It was a shame we couldn't help him any better than that, since no one else really seemed concerned about finding those women. _A woman goes missing, and you'll either never find her... or you'll just find her body,_ Isabela told me then. _It's the truth, kitten. The world's not kind to women. _I was horrified by how matter-of-fact she was when she said it, but I've seen enough since then to know it to be true.

"What does he want?" I ask Aveline. Maybe he's found something else he wants us to investigate for him. He must have got a fair bit greyer and slower these past few years, I wouldn't be surprised if he thought he couldn't do it himself. "Does he want Hawke's help with something?"

Aveline nods. "And some sort of official sanction," she adds with a grimace.

Hawke looks confused. "Official sanction?"

"He wants someone respectable and official to take him seriously, so that other people will," I realise aloud. "Which must mean the Templars won't help him, so you and the guard is all he's got left to try. So he's asking Aveline for help."

The Guard-Captain nods wearily. "For his "investigation." He's convinced that every random murder in the past few years is connected, that an Orlesian noble living in Hightown is responsible or at least involved, and he won't be quiet. He badgers my guards about it too, correctly hoping they'll pass what he's saying along to me. And his words about a woman-killer in Hightown are spreading." She shakes her head. "A thorn in my side inventing trouble and scaring people."

I frown a little. His ideas didn't seem all that far-fetched to me. As far as I'm concerned, the possibility that someone might be kidnapping women is worth looking into, even a little bit, just in case he's right.

Hawke seems to think the same. She gives Aveline a curious look, tilting her head thoughtfully to the side. "You don't think it's worth investigating?" she asks. "Why not check it out?"

"I have. He even convinced one of my lieutenants to raid the DuPuis mansion. Nothing there. You wouldn't believe how much arse I had to kiss after that. Bloody hobbyist constable." She gives a burdened sigh. "Why can't he spend his declining years building a boat, or something?"

"What can I do that you can't?" Hawke asks her. "I'll help if you need it, but I'm not sure what exactly you need me to do."

"_Anything_ to shut him up," Aveline replies, her wry tone tinged with exasperation.

Hawke grins. "Muzzle the geezer," she jokes, making a fist. "Got it."

Aveline gives a small laugh. "I would never say that," she says, eyes dancing. "But he keeps asking for you. If you talk to him, and it leads somewhere real, I'll take it off your plate. If he shuts up, that's good too."

"Where can we find him?" I ask, knowing her reply before I even finish speaking. It seems a silly question, asking where to find a Templar. I suppose I'm really just hoping for a different answer than-

"The Gallows, most likely," Aveline tells us, a look of sympathetic understanding in her eyes. "Sorry, but that's where he spends most of his time." She gives a small grin. "Of course, I've heard he also frequents the Blooming Rose quite regularly, if you want to try him there..."

Hawke and I exchange a look, both of us clearly thinking of Varric's words this morning, how he'd laugh if we went there now. "I'll talk to him at the Gallows," Hawke says resignedly. "He had some good leads, as I recall. Maybe it will lead to something."

"If it does, I'll pick it up," Aveline assures her. "Right now, he's just distracting my men."

"We'll meet you down at the docks tomorrow," Hawke tells her, and then grimaces. "Maker, that sounds like an Isabela-esque euphemism. Nonetheless, meet us there tomorrow, first hour after dawn. We can speak with Emeric together."

"Thanks, Hawke. I'll try not to make a habit out of this." Aveline gives us a nod in farewell, and turns toward the door without further ado. "Tomorrow, then."

Bodahn appears in the doorway, a weary look in his eyes. "Young master Tethras is resting, messere," he reports, not really hiding the sigh in his voice very well at all, Sandal's bright blue eyes and happy grin flashing over his father's shoulder as he bounces on his heels in excitement.

"Thank you, Bodahn," Hawke replies, giving him a grateful smile.

I smile at him too, knowing how difficult Varric can be when he's too full of ale to tell up from down. "I hope he didn't give the both of you too much trouble."

Sandal bounces faster, fairly dancing from foot to foot as Bodahn shakes his head, a trifle hesitantly. "Not too much, I wouldn't say. Nothing beyond a slight mishap when we tried to get him into bed."

Sandal giggles harder. "He stepped in the chamber pot!" he bursts out, unable to contain himself.

"Which was empty, I assure you messere," Bodahn puts in hurriedly, patting Sandal with one gentle calming hand. "The boy here found it quite amusing, nonetheless."

"His foot got stuck! He said bad words. It was very funny," Sandal informs Hawke happily, a wide grin infusing his features with his own special inner light. He mimics Varric's scowl as he tries to shake an invisible chamber pot off his foot, then beams at me happily. "I like Varric."

"I like him too," I agree. "He's very funny." Sandal giggles his agreement.

Bodahn nods his head respectfully to both me and Hawke, and beckons Sandal to follow him down the hallway. "Come on, my boy," he says. "We'll fetch some refreshments and wash water to master Tethras' room for when he wakes."

"And be careful-" Hawke begins, and Bodahn waves a hand, smiling.

"Not to let your mother know," he finishes for her, and winks conspiratorially. "Don't worry, Messere, _mum's_ the word!" He chuckles as he walks away, one hand on Sandal's shoulder.

Hawke turns to me, raising her brows as she lets out her breath in a long sigh.

"Quite a busy morning, ma vhenan," I say, giving voice to her thoughts.

She nods, moving over to slump into the chair at her writing desk. "You can say that again."

I smile as I follow her. "I don't think I really need to, though, do I?"

A light laugh escapes her and she turns to look at me fondly, then abruptly winces. Her hand goes to her arm and she rolls her shoulder a little. "Maker, that Aveline can certainly swing a sword," she groans, ruefully inspecting the bloodstained rent in the sleeve of her shirt. Her eyes fall on the gleaming longsword lying across the desk before her. "And I'm more than certain she was being extremely easy on me."

"Well, as quick a learner as you are, you'll soon be able to give as good as you get, and better," I assure her, reaching out to touch her shoulder with a hand gleaming with mana. I run my fingers gently along the wound, touching my magic and spirit to hers, healing the cut left by Aveline's blade and leaving nothing but a faint pink line that will soon fade away.

Hawke draws in a sharp breath, and turns to examine her shoulder, then she grins up at me happily. "You're getting good at that, ma sa'lath," she exclaims. "I'm not the only fast learner here."

I smile. "I doubt I'd have as much success fixing up that hole in your sleeve. If only there was a spell for that! Darning clothes is not at all fun."

"Agreed," Hawke groans. "Maker knows I've done my fair share. Our clothes certainly go through some hard times with us, don't they?"

She pulls me into her lap and I curl my arms about her neck, touching my brow to hers. "Do you think Varric might like to come with us tomorrow?" I ask. "If he feels better?"

Hawke smirks. "Doubtful. I think he'll have rather a strong headache tomorrow, and I don't intend to heal it for him. Not magically at least. Potions can do for him this time. If he wants to drink himself stupid that's his choice, but the after effects are part of the deal as far as I'm concerned. It'll stop him from overindulging again too soon. One hopes." Her fingers toy idly with the hilt of her longsword. "In any case, he certainly wouldn't do well on a boat ride to the Gallows. I think we'll be fine with just us and Aveline. We're only going to talk to Emeric, after all, nothing more dangerous than that."

"One hopes," I tease, smiling. Hawke laughs lightly, ruffling my hair.

"Come on," she says, and I hop off her lap as she makes to stand up. "Let's go and see how our drunken friend is feeling. Hopefully he will feel well enough to slink off back to the Hanged Man before Mother discovers him. A blinding headache is punishment enough. No one deserves to suffer the radiating heat of Leandra Amell's blistering disapproval." She chuckles wryly. "Not even Varric."

* * *

><p>I wouldn't have thought it possible, but the funny smell down here at the docks gets even stronger in the mornings. My nose wrinkles against the stench as I walk with Hawke past the labourers loading cargo on the piers, trying not to breathe too deeply. Ugh, it really is a terrible smell. Like really old, dead fish. And lots of them. Creators, how does anyone stomach working down here? I suppose they wouldn't if they didn't have to and they probably get used to it after a bit and all, but still. And it's not at all safe down here by the water! Not unless you know how to swim. I fell off the pier once. The harbour is really deep! I do know how to swim, of course, all Dalish children learn. But it's difficult to swim very well when you're wearing chainmail. Impossible, actually. I was just lucky Hawke and Isabela were with there and dove right in after me. It took the two of them together to bring me back up. I shiver a little, looking down at the sparkly blue water. I'm glad I didn't wear my chainmail today, that's for certain! Since there didn't really seem to be much danger involved in anything we have to do this morning and all...<p>

Distracted by my thoughts, I fail to notice the two men deep in conversation in front of me until I bump into one of them, rebounding off his hard shoulder into Hawke, who steadies me gently. I turn at once to the man I walked into, apologies already bubbling out of my throat.

"Oh, I'm so sorry ser, I really ought to pay more attention to where I'm going-"

He turns and I falter, instantly recognising the gleaming silver hair and cool green eyes. "Oh, Fenris, it's you!" I exclaim, and smile at him. Good, it's only Fenris. He knows how clumsy I am, he's used to it, or should be by now. "Well, that's all right then."

"Indeed," he replies, his tone more question than agreement, I think. And only a hint of a sneer! He must really be in a good mood this morning! He nods a greeting to us. "Merrill. Hawke."

"Good morning, Fenris," Hawke smiles. She nods cordially to the red-haired man with the impressive moustache he was speaking to before I interrupted them. He looks familiar. I think we've seen him down here before, sometime. I frown, concentrating, and then feel my expression clear as my memory stirs. He's a travelling merchant of sorts, if I remember right. We met him in one of the underground passages beneath the docks on some errand or another. I suppose Fenris must be buying something from him then. He doesn't usually come up here to sell, I don't think. Certainly not during the day. Maybe he's on his way home?

"Lem, isn't it?" Hawke asks, extending a hand to him. "Bonny Lem?"

"Well, I sure ain't Bonny Lynne!" the fellow chuckles, grasping her hand and shaking with enthusiasm. Hawke laughs merrily at his joke but whatever it is, I don't get it. A human or Fereldan thing, I suppose. Or both. "Lem's the name, alright. And you'd be young Lady Hawke, if I ain't mistaken, miss?"

"I don't know that I'd consider myself a "Lady" anything, the company I keep," Hawke says, giving him a wink and grinning wryly at his guffaw. "But Hawke is my name, yes. We've met once or twice, I believe."

"Aye, miss, that we have," he replies jovially, matching her smile with a satisfied grin. "Bought some of my choicest items, you did, and I thank you for the trade. Anything I can help you with today?"

Hawke shakes her head. "Not this time. We were just on our way to meet a friend at the docks."

"Ah, well. Next time, then." He gives a little bow over her hand with a rakish grin, then turns to Fenris. "I'll see about getting that item you mentioned for you, if I can," he tells him, tapping a finger to the side of his nose. "Check back in a week or two. You know where to find me. I've other business of my own now, I'm afraid." He glances at Hawke and me, nodding a polite farewell. "Meeting up with an old colleague. Got to hurry, I'm running a little late after bumping into your fine frosty friend here, and I'm not sure how long she'll be sticking around. Always rushing off somewhere, that lass!" He chuckles fondly, more to himself than to us. "Impatient thing she is too, the little Orlesian she-devil." He gives us a conspiratorial wink and strides off down the street.

Fenris watches him go, and then turns his wary gaze on us, waiting to see what we will say. I glance at Hawke but hold my tongue, I know better by now to ask him what sort of item he asked the trader to get him. It's none of my business and most likely he wouldn't tell us anyway. After a moment of rather awkward silence in which we all just sort of stare uncomfortably at one another, Hawke gives a discomfited sort of cough.

"Well..." she begins brightly. "As lovely as this has been, we really must be going now I'm afraid. Appointments to keep, boats to catch. Templars to question. You know, the usual."

Fenris raises an eyebrow, frowning a little more than usual, like he does when he's worried. "You're going to the Gallows?"

Oh, no. He won't want to come, will he? Oh please no, couldn't he just go and be moody to someone else for today? "Aveline wants us to talk to one of the Templars about some missing women he's been investigating," I put in, not faltering as he glances irritably at me before fixing his gaze on Hawke once more. I'm more than tired of his attempts to ignore or intimidate me. Frankly at this point, I should really be challenging him over the inappropriate way he keeps looking at _my_ love. I clear my throat a little to regain his attention and take a half step forward in what I hope is a casual manner. I hold his gaze, forcing him to acknowledge me as I put my shoulder in front of Hawke. A little possessive, perhaps, but It feels necessary. I told him I wouldn't talk to Hawke about how Fenris feels about her, but I don't need to put up with his puppy dog eyes every time he looks at her. _She's mine, not yours. Get used to it already. _I brace myself for his next move, which will most likely be to insist that he comes with us, in order to protect us from the Templars. Well, protect Hawke, really. I doubt very much he'd try very hard to help me if I were about to be dragged into the Gallows. He'd probably offer to grab my legs to speed things along. "We're heading off to meet her at the boat now, in fact. It will be very boring and not at all dangerous or interesting in any way. Don't worry, I'm sure we won't get into any trouble with the Guard-Captain along."

Fenris matches my stare for a few moments, a glint of grudging, if somewhat amused, respect in his eyes. "I see," he says finally. "Would you mind if I came with you, regardless? I've been meaning to visit the armoury shop in the square. Now would be as good an opportunity as any."

I lift my brows in surprise, the retort on how we can protect ourselves on my lips as I exchange a surprised glance with Hawke. I was sure he'd offer to protect her, and I can see she expected the same. What's he playing at?

Hawke nods and gives a small shrug, smiling. "Of course, why not?" She turns, motioning us down the street towards the docks. "We'd best not keep Aveline waiting, then."

Fenris follows, something very like a self-satisfied smile on his lips. A very small one, but still, it's there. I narrow my eyes at him, then hurry to catch up to Hawke. Oh, he's clever. We might have been able to put him off offering us his unnecessary protection, but there's no real reason to say no to him for an innocuous reason like visiting a shop. Now he can moon after Hawke all day. I brush past him and slip my arm around Hawke as we make our way to the edge of the dock where Aveline will be waiting. It's not for Fenris's benefit, of course not. I'd be doing this anyway, if he weren't here. I've a right to after all, and he doesn't. I'm certainly not trying to rub his face in the fact that I can hug her, hold her, kiss her whenever I want to and he can't. I'm not trying to make him jealous.

Not at all.

I risk a glance over my shoulder and smile sweetly into the glaring green eyes shooting daggers into my back, then squeeze Hawke just a little tighter around her supple waist. Well, alright. Maybe I want to make him a _little _jealous. I turn back and lay my head against her shoulder, my smile widening as I feel her kiss the top of my head.

Just a _little_.

* * *

><p>Once on board the boat Hawke stands at the prow with Fenris, giving him the details of our task today. I sit down on a sea chest lashed down by the railing to serve as a seat, since there's no real need for me to be up there with him and Hawke. After all, he's too busy trying to keep his balance and concentrate on what Hawke is trying to tell him over the sound of the waves to do too much mooning. So I just sit, trying to keep myself out of the way and not do anything silly or annoying, like bump into a sailor or fall overboard. I close my eyes and turn my face into the wind, enjoying the refreshing feel of the wind and salt spray against my skin as the little vessel glides along. Bereft of my chainmail, the wind scatters cool droplets of water on my bare arms, making my skin glint prettily like diamonds in the light. I can see how Isabela would like sailing so much, if this is part of it. She was right; it's much nicer to be up on deck like this rather than cramped in the hold, rocking back and forth and up and down in the dark, like it was for my clan on our journey from Ferelden. It's calming, even, the way the boat surges and descends the mild harbour waves in an even rhythm. Like the gentle rocking of a baby's cradle. Soothing. Peaceful. I almost feel I could fall asleep, if I'd a mind to.<p>

The clink and jingle of mail and plate announces Aveline's presence, and I look up to find her standing beside me, peering out over the water towards the island on which the Gallows stands, hovering ominously above the water. Looking at her, I hope nothing happens to capsize our boat. With all that metal she's wearing, she'd sink straight to the bottom, and we wouldn't be able to get her back up again, not without doing some sort of spell or something right at the Templars' front door, and then they'd be on us like wolves on a halla. I feel Aveline's eyes on me and glance up at her face. Something in her cool green gaze makes me sort of, well... itchy. Like I want to wriggle out of her regard, the way I would recoil from the shivery entrapment of a spider web. I shift uncomfortably as we look at each other in silence, and finally I grow tired of waiting for her to speak.

"Aveline? Why are you looking at me like that?" I give a little bit of a smile, plucking nervously at my tunic. "Do you see something green?"

Aveline gives a small shake of her head, and I notice her gaze running up and down my uncovered arms. "I was simply noting the lack of fresh or half healed gashes on your forearms," she says, cutting straight to the point with her blunt honesty. "Dare I take that to mean you've been abstaining?" _From blood magic_ is the unspoken end to that sentence, I know, but she won't voice it out loud, not among all these sailors and strangers. I suppose I'm grateful for that.

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes, I've stopped using... it," I reply quietly.

Her eyes flick to the front of the boat - the bow, I think Isabela would call it - where Hawke stands with Fenris. "Truly? Hawke isn't simply healing you afterwards?"

I frown. "No, Aveline. Hawke doesn't want me to use... to do that anymore, so I've stopped."

"But you're still working on the mirror." Aveline meets my eyes, her face expressionless. "And Hawke is helping you."

It isn't a question. I answer it anyway, though some part of me wonders how she could know that. I know she's quite intuitive for a human, but that's quite a shot in the dark, considering that as far as Aveline should know, Hawke disapproves of the mirror. I think. Unless she has somehow been privy to our private conversations, or has had someone watch us or something. But she wouldn't do that, would she? "Yes, she is. She thinks we can find a way to cleanse it and fix it without blood magic." Her expression doesn't change, but I can see the doubt in her face. "I promise it won't be a danger to Kirkwall, Aveline," I tell her. "I won't let it be."

She nods slowly, though I sense her doubt still. I look at her, at the grim line of her mouth and the cool shadow in her eyes, and I feel the disapproval radiating out from her, seeping into me, weighing me down. I speak before I know I'm going to, without knowing what I'm going to say. "You don't really like me very much, do you Aveline?"

Finally her expression changes, her face registering shock and bewilderment, with a dash of remorse. "Oh, Merrill," she says, and abruptly the facade of the stern, unforgiving Kirkwall guard-captain falls away, and my fiery red-headed Fereldan friend sits down beside me on the sea chest, pulling off her armoured gloves to take my hand in hers. "I like you just fine. I consider you a very good friend. I'm sorry if I made you believe otherwise. It's just..." She gives a small sigh. "It's my job to worry about things like this. I have to keep my eyes open, even around my friends." She glances towards Hawke and Fenris, the apostate Ferelden mage and the escaped slave squatting in an abandoned Hightown residence, and laughs a little. "Especially around my friends, most of whom are apostates, squatters, or thieves. Who, as you once so blithely pointed out, break the law on a regular basis." I nod and squeeze her fingers in understanding, smiling a little myself. It is pretty funny when she puts it like that. Her expression grows serious once more, and she pitches her voice low, so that no one but me will be able to hear her over the waves if they don't get too close to us. "But most of the time when I look the other way, it's only for small things that are easy to let go. Things that don't hurt anyone, that don't matter very much, especially when balanced against the good that you do. Your blood magic, however..." She sighs. "I know you don't mean any harm, but after what I've seen of the work of blood mages - and in my time in Kirkwall, with Hawke or on patrol, I've seen much - I can never forget your use of it. I can't condone it, and I can never approve of it. I can't see anything good in it. This mirror... I don't see how anything it can give you can be worth what it has taken so far. How can it be worth the danger it puts you in? And now Hawke is involved. What if something happens to her? What if your demon hurts her, or you? What if you hurt her?" I try to protest but she shakes her head, cutting me off and speaking over me. "I heard about what happened in the Fade." I fall silent, remembering, and she surveys me calmly, though with a gentle sadness in her eyes. "What happened once can happen again, with your demon or with any other drawn to your blood magic, or your mirror. Couldn't it?"

"Yes," I all but whisper, and then make my voice stronger. "It could happen. Anything could happen. But it won't. We are being careful, Aveline. As careful as we possibly can."

"Good," Aveline says. "Because even more than I worry about the people of Kirkwall coming to harm from this crazy scheme of yours, I worry about you two. I don't want either of you to get hurt from this."

I smile a little, warmed by her concern, understanding a little more of why she has been so stern about this, so watchful. She's afraid of what the mirror might do, but she's afraid for us too. Her friends. "I won't let Hawke be hurt, I promise," I assure her. "I'd die first."

Aveline is silent for a long moment, gazing at me with her brow furrowed and a frown on her lips. "Hawke is like a sister to me," she says at last, her words frank and honest. "We've been through a lot together. I love her dearly, and I am very glad that she has you. A blind nug could see the happiness in her eyes when she looks at you. I am determined not to let her be hurt either, just as you are." She pauses, green eyes holding mine with steady intensity. "And losing you would hurt Hawke more deeply than anything ever could."

I lower my eyes at her words, feeling dismayed at the truth in them. She waits a moment longer to let it sink in fully, then sighs as she stretches her legs out before she starts to stand, tugging her gloves back on in an officious manner. "So I'm sorry, but I'll be keeping close eyes on the both of you whether you like it or not. Especially since I know she's set on helping you fix that damned mirror."

"Been spying again, Aveline?" I jump in astonishment at the sound of Hawke's voice, coming from right beside us. Creators, she is as silent as a Dalish in the woods when she wants to be! How much of our conversation did she overhear? Hawke lifts an eyebrow at Aveline, her tone light, though her usual cheeky grin is missing from her beautiful face. "You know I don't like it when you have your people watch me."

"I don't like it when you make it necessary," Aveline replies evenly without missing a beat, as though she knew Hawke was there all along. "I make it a point not to intrude on anything too personal, Hawke, but for some matters... well, you protect your friends and loved ones in your way, Hawke, and I protect them in mine."

Hawke studies her for a long moment, and then nods slowly, grudgingly accepting Aveline's words. "I suppose I can't stop you, can I?" she says, the beginnings of a wry grin appearing on her lips. She makes a show of examining her fingernails, leaning casually against the mast of the little boat. "Well, I won't be too worried. I don't tend to find your people all that difficult to spot, as a rule. The last one I saw gave herself away all too easily, staring right at us in the street, bold as brass." She gives a little laugh. "And her disguise! She was dressed like a chantry sister, but moved like a rogue thief in the night. She couldn't have looked more out of place if she tried."

Aveline looks baffled. "My informants don't include anyone affiliated with the Chantry," she says. "And they certainly don't impersonate Chantry officials. It's not lawful and I wouldn't stand for it."

Hawke frowns. "A red head with piercing blue eyes and porcelain skin. Are you certain she wasn't one of yours? Perhaps new to the game, not clear on your rules?"

"There's no one like that among my people," Aveline says, shaking her head. "Not even in the guards." She gives Hawke an uneasy look. "If someone like that has been watching you, it's far more likely she was actually from the Chantry." Her eyes stray to the Gallows, directly ahead of us. "Or the Templars."

I feel my heart beat faster as a thrill of fear runs through me. I do remember the woman Hawke is talking about, if only a little. The one who was watching us that day in the market, the morning after we... our first night together. I didn't really think anything of it then, but... If the Templars have had someone watching us, who knows what they could have seen? Just being mages would be enough for them to lock us up, but if they suspect blood magic... "Oh no, Creators please don't let it be so," I murmur fervently. "After all, if the Templars do suspect us of anything, then right now we could be walking right into a trap." I pause thoughtfully. "Or sailing right into it, I suppose."

Hawke looks troubled, but shakes her head. "I don't think she had anything to do with the Templars. Perhaps she was simply a curious Chantry sister, or perhaps she was one of Varric's eyes. Or perhaps someone else altogether is watching us. If so, there's not much I can do about it, aside from maintaining vigilance."

I smile a little, wanting to lighten the mood if I can. "Well then, maybe _that's _why Xenon sent you that sword."

Hawke chuckles, and Aveline gives a small smile. The boat draws up against the dock as the sailors throw ropes and tighten it off. Time to go, then.

"Let's not let it worry us for the moment," Hawke says. "We'll have to be as careful as possible while we're here, anyway, whether they've been watching us or not."

She looks up at Fenris, who has been speaking with a sailor up in the fore of the boat, and beckons him over, then we step off the boat one by one and stand on the dock. Looking up at that great, hulking mage prison, I decide to take Hawke's advice and put all my concentration into making definitely, _positively_ sure not to say or do anything to let people know I am a mage while we're here, in the last place we ever want to come, voluntarily or otherwise. I can feel the pain, despair and helplessness here, generations of it remembered in the stone. A deep chill settles over me and I move my body close to Hawke's automatically as we start forward, stepping into the darkened, shadowy entrance to the brooding edifice carved of rock and misery.

Into the mouth of the Gallows.

Oh, dear Creators, I don't like it here.

* * *

><p>xxx H xxx<p>

* * *

><p>Oh, sweet Maker, I wish I were anywhere else.<p>

Merrill's presence is a sweet, comforting warmth at my side as we walk from the gloomy entrance tunnels into the Gallows courtyard. Bright as the sun is today, the light that shines down into this barren, ominous square of stone is somehow diminished, faded. Hopeless. Shadows cast from the spear-headed iron fencing that lines the tops of the walls make criss-crossed lines on the paving stones at our feet, ringing the square in ephemeral bars like one giant prison cell. Which it could become at a moment's notice, thanks to the heavy portcullis that hangs over the one and only entrance and exit to or from the Gallows, should any hapless visitors be revealed as apostates. Or should any recalcitrant slaves try to escape, perhaps I should say. After all, this place was originally built as a prison to house the slaves that worked Kirkwall's quarries. Now it is a prison to keep the mages who heal for the Chantry and make the potions and enchanted items for the Templars to sell at the meagre stores here in the courtyard. Little has changed, as far as I can see. The statues that ring the courtyard depicting the agony of tortured slaves still remain, and from time to time the bodies of traitors and those executed for crimes against Kirkwall are displayed here too, hung from the gibbets on the docks and throughout the yard as a warning to all. The magisters designed every inch of this place to break the spirits of its unfortunate inhabitants, to discourage disobedience, and the Templars have let the statues stand for much the same purpose, I imagine.

Andraste, why couldn't Emeric have met us anywhere else? If he wants my help, why do I bloody have to come to him?

"I've... heard about the Circle of Magi outside of the Imperium, but I've never been in one," Fenris says, his words slow and measured.

I turn to find him stopped a few paces back, staring up at one of the miserable slave-statues towering above us high on the wall. I walk back to him, Merrill and Aveline following behind me, and he turns to face us, worried eyes locking with mine. "Are you certain it's wise for you to be here?" His voice is hushed in an effort not to be heard, but deep as it is the tone of his voice carries further than I would like. I glance around furtively and, thankfully finding no one within immediate earshot, step closer to him.

"Not if you don't stay quiet," I tell him wryly. "It would help if you didn't ask questions like that. We'll blend in, don't you worry." At his raised eyebrow, I give him a self-assured wink. It isn't like I haven't had to come here before on some business or another, and I haven't been decried as an apostate and dragged off by the Templars yet. Not once. "What's a couple more mages in the Gallows courtyard? Nobody will even notice us. We're not all that conspicuous."

"I don't know about that," Merrill says doubtfully, eyeing the few mages and tranquil scattered about, all of whom seem to be either human or city elves. She rubs unconsciously at her cheek, tracing the vallaslin with one dainty fingertip. "Are there many Dalish here?"

"You're not helping," I pretend to chastise her wryly, a fond smile on my lips. I turn back to Fenris, attempting to project an air of complete confidence. "We'll be careful."

"Very reassuring," he deadpans, smirking, then glances about, taking in the view of the high spear-topped walls, the grotesquely distorted statuary, the grim-faced Templars standing guard about the perimeter. "This seems more like a prison. I wonder if it's more effective than the Circle I know."

"I suppose I can't really say for sure and certain." I give a one-shouldered shrug. "I only know what my father and Anders have told me about it, and those stories are chilling enough. What's it like in Tevinter? How is the Imperial Circle of Magi different?"

Fenris fixes me in a level gaze. "Once upon a time it was as it is here. The Chantry watched the magisters closely for any signs of corruption or weakness. Then it changed." His face hardens with contempt for the decisions of those long dead. "The magisters were permitted to watch over their own, and Templars kept only to enforce the law. What happened next was inevitable. The magisters rule again, as powerful as they ever were."

"You said the Chantry_ used_ to watch the magisters." I tilt my head at him inquisitively, wondering what could prompt such a watchful organisation to slacken in their self-appointed duty. "Why did they stop?"

"You must remember that the attitude towards magic is different in Tevinter," he reminds me with the air of a patient lecturer towards an inattentive pupil. "Magisters came from wealthy families, bloodlines that had nurtured magical talent for countless generations. The Chantry was not trying to control poor peasants but the scions of the greatest houses in the Imperium."

I frown in confusion. "Weren't they defeated? I thought the magisters had been thrown down by the Chantry."

"On the contrary," he counters. "Andraste never defeated the Imperium, despite what the Chantry would have you believe." I nod, accepting this without question. The Chantry would have me believe a great many things that aren't true, so I have no difficulty with the concept they might wish to blur the truth in this regard as well. "Her great army conquered the south, but not the north. The magisters eventually surrendered to the Chantry, but they did so on their terms. They kept their influence. Thus they reclaimed what they lost over the centuries." He gives a sardonic grimace. "Some battles are lost by inches. In the end, the despotism of the magisters was little effected by Andraste's efforts."

"Are the magisters so terrible?" I ask, knowing that I risk provoking him but unable to stop myself. "You talk about them as if they are all evil."

Fenris sighs. "I have no doubt that some are good and noble men and women, strong enough to resist temptation," he says. He gives me a conciliatory look. "If you lived in Tevinter, doubtless you would be among their number. But how many temptations do you wish to offer a man before he will give in? Blood magic is everywhere in Tevinter. From the lowliest apprentice up to the archon himself."

"How do you know that?" I can't help but ask him. Why do I get the feeling I'm going to regret following along with this line of questioning? Why can't I just hold my tongue? I'm only going to end up becoming frustrated with him. But he so rarely opens up about his past. And I still feel that if I continue to question his biased opinions while providing him with an example of a mage who contradicts his every belief, I will gradually convince him to let go of his past, to stop letting his experiences with a few rotten mages colour every other interaction with the rest of us. Some might question my perseverance in this matter, but despite the man's stubborn refusal to bend, I know he's a good man at his core. A man who has been grievously hurt in his time. And I am nothing if not a patient healer, particularly for those I call friend. One step at a time. "You can't have seen this for yourself."

"Humph," Fenris grunts, somewhat irritably. "Danarius talked about it often. Of course they say it's forbidden. Behind the smiles and closed doors, however, it's a different matter. To be a magister in Tevinter is to be glorious. To be a _powerful_ magister in Tevinter..." He pauses briefly for effect before continuing, the bitterness in his voice unmasked. "That is worth any price."

"You're saying the same thing could happen here," I conclude.

"If the mages were permitted to be their own watchers? Of course. In Tevinter, there is a constant struggle for power among the elite, and thus most will eventually turn to darker arts. Particularly if their own power is not enough to protect them without resorting to it. Even the most powerful of the morally upright would surely take any measures to protect their families if threatened, would they not? Can you honestly say you would not, Hawke?" He looks at me almost challengingly, and gives a small, grim smile when I have no answer for him. "It is too easy for a mage to resort to blood magic if they feel the need is great enough. A mage can desire power, justice, revenge, protection..." Predictably, his eyes flick to Merrill, who narrows her eyes right back at him. "Any cause will do, and then they are lost."

"So this is the answer?" I challenge him, my tone becoming angrier. "You can't say every mage is corrupt. You're saying that locking mages up for a crime they _may_ commit is better? "

"All I am saying is the Imperium offers no answer," is his slow, long-suffering reply. "All that Andraste did long ago to end the tyranny of magic has been undone."

I repress a derisive smirk - barely - but fail to keep the scornful edge from my voice as the words leave my lips. "Tyranny of magic? Very dramatic." I pause for just an instant, struck by the odd feeling that my remark was exactly the sort of thing Bethany would have said, if she were here. I allow myself a moment of sweet reflection tinged with bitter loss, then fix my gaze on the former slave before me, blinded by the ghosts of his past. "Andraste ended the 'tyranny' of magic and replaced it with an entirely new one."

Fenris scowls. "Considering all that magic has done to my homeland and my race, I weep for your predicament. Let me show you my homeland or the ruins of Arlathan, and then you may speak of drama."

Merrill steps to my side, emerald eyes flashing daggers at the snow-haired elf. "She freed our people as well, but it was _your _Chantry that undid that."

"And who enslaved us in the first place? Don't be naive," Fenris snaps back at her. "Power corrupts, as they say, and mages have power enough already."

I feel my temper slip further from my control. "Treating every mage like a criminal isn't the answer."

"And not every mage deserves the benefit of the doubt."

"Is this really the best place to debate the morality of the Circle and the Templar order?" Aveline questions softly in an attempt to restore us to caution, but though I hear her words, they go unheeded. Such conversations with Fenris are like boulders bouncing down a mountainside. They can't be halted once they've gained too much momentum; they can only keep on rolling, hurtling along at breakneck speed until either the ground levels off and they come to a gradual, weary and anticlimactic end, or they crash into a cliff and explode in a billowing cloud of violent destruction.

"It's wrong to oppress mages," I state emphatically, my gaze locked with his. "The Templars here abuse their power. They go too far."

He regards me calmly. "Does that mean they should not try?"

"Injustice cannot be answered with injustice!" Merrill argues hotly, small fists clenching at her sides.

"According to everything I've seen, the Circle can't control mages anyhow," I declare firmly. "It only drives them to become what the Templars most fear. The Circle doesn't work."

Fenris spreads his hands. "And what is the alternative? Freedom is a noble ideal, but I see no oppression here. I see fear... and danger." He shakes his head, abruptly tiring of the circles our argument is turning in. "But enough. I'm sure we came here for a reason."

Having had enough myself, I nod shortly. "We did." I'm done with Fenris and his stubborn insistence on clinging to his prejudice. For the moment, at least. Doubtless we'll return to the argument later whether I like it or not, but for today it's enough. And while I can't exactly consider this progress, I suppose it could have been worse. No one stormed off in a fit of pique, at least. And we didn't come to blows. That has to count for something.

Turning towards the inner courtyard, I spot a grey haired Templar on watch leaning against one of the pillars and recognise Emeric, though he looks a little older, and rather more unkempt than he did at our previous meeting. The years have not been kind. "Over there; the one we've come to talk to about the missing women." I beckon my companions to follow me as I head toward him. "Come on."

As I turn from my companions, from the corner of my eye I see Merrill give Fenris a look that, if I didn't know better, I would have to label either smug or triumphant, or a little bit of both. Strange. It isn't very like her to act that way, though Fenris has certainly given her reason to in his time. Perhaps she is simply tiring of letting it go. I think back to the way she reacted to him earlier at the docks, sort of protective of me, almost territorial - which I found a little odd, but mostly impressive and ferociously adorable - and the way she interjected her opinions into our conversation just now, arguing back at him with fierce conviction. She's certainly growing more self-assured and assertive.

I like that just fine.

Emeric watches our approach across the courtyard, arms crossed across his breastplate in a rather hostile pose for someone who has apparently requested my help. Well, _that_ bodes well for our impending conversation. I give him a friendly smile, shooting hopefully for levity. "Hello, Emeric. The Guard-Captain says you're still chasing disappearing acts."

Clearly that was a bad decision. The lines around his clouding eyes deepen, and he gives me a reproving glare. "That's not funny," he snaps belligerently. Oh, dear. Our reunion is off to a fine start, it seems.

"My apologies," I reply, quite sincerely, raising my hands in a placatory gesture. That was rather insensitive. My emotions are still running high from the argument, I suppose. Time to cool down. "Was there something you wanted to speak to me about?"

Sensing the change in my demeanour, Emeric drops his arms to his sides and takes a step closer, dropping his voice a fraction. "I need your help urgently. I believe I finally have a suspect, a man called Gascard DuPuis."

I just manage to suppress a very unladylike snort of amusement. "Really? That's his name? DuPuis?"

Emeric surprises me by cracking a small but noticeable smile. "It's Orlesian," he says dryly, pronouncing every syllable in a mockingly exaggerated fashion. "I believe he is descended from nobility." His smile fades, and he glances at Aveline, a trifle accusingly. "When I became convinced of his guilt, I went to the city guard and demanded that they do something."

"My men raided that house," Aveline tells him pointedly, eyes narrowed crossly. "There was nothing, and I've heard no end because of it. You were reprimanded, I hope."

"I was," he replies shortly. A sly look comes over his face. "Meredith forbade me from continuing my investigation. But she didn't say I couldn't seek outside help."

"And I'm supposed to be the 'outside help'." I cross my arms, tapping my index fingers against my elbows as I think. "Did you show anyone the bones?" I ask him suddenly, looking up as the memory surfaces. Surely the remains we found in that abandoned warehouse were worth something as proof of foul play. "I retrieved sack of human remains for you. Didn't you show it to the guard?"

"I did. They said the remains could've been gathered together by scavengers looking for bits of gold and jewellery." He shakes his head, irritation and contempt in his tone. "They said there was no way to tell if the remains even belonged to the missing women."

"I'm sorry, Emeric," Aveline says sincerely. "But that's the truth of it."

He spares her a wounded glance and continues. "I had no choice but to continue the investigation on my own."

I shift my footing, feeling somewhat uncomfortably guilty. I really ought to have followed up on his progress with this case. I had thought that what we had found for him would have been enough, though. Perhaps if we'd given him Ninette de Carrac's wedding ring to show them as well, and asked that awful husband of hers, Ghyslain, to testify that it belonged to his missing wife, the guard might have had more to go on. Aveline knew about that, but she wasn't the Captain back then. Not yet. Ghyslain would be long gone by now, and the ring with him. There wouldn't be any point in bringing it up now. Best to simply do the best we can with what we do have. "What have you learned about Gascard DuPuis?"

"He's a reclusive nobleman who's rarely seen outside his estate in Hightown," the old Templar informs me. "He knew two of the murdered women and made inquiries about the others. It cannot be a coincidence."

I almost smile. It cannot be a coincidence? It sounds exactly like a coincidence! But... that's not to say it isn't worth looking into. "Maybe you're right," I muse aloud. "It should be investigated, at least."

Emeric's face brightens a little. "Thank you," he says gratefully. "I've faced nothing but ridicule. To hear someone say that is... encouraging."

"Who else is looking into this?" I ask. If the Templars and the guard weren't interested, has he really been on his own with this for the past three years? I find myself hoping this isn't the case. "Were you the only person investigating these murders?"

He nods. "Yes, unfortunately. The Templar order believes this is a matter for the city guard. And the city guard, well... they rejected my evidence and dismissed the murders as isolated incidents." His eyes harden angrily. "They don't care either."

"I've seen your evidence," Aveline interjects defensively. "Scattered notes, conjecture, nothing remotely usable. You can't expect us to act on your hunches alone. Look what happened when we did."

"The guards who searched Gascard's place were incompetent," Emeric retorts, fuming. "They didn't know what they were looking for!"

Aveline gives him an implacable stare, raising an eyebrow. "Fine, if you insist," she says in the tones of someone mollifying a difficult child.

The last straw for Emeric. His hands clench into angry, frustrated fists at his sides, and the rough, heated words burst from him like sparks from a fire. "Women are dying out there, and no one's doing anything!"

"And why should Hawke be the one to endanger herself by getting involved?" Fenris asks, stepping forward slightly into a subtly aggressive stance.

Emeric glances at him briefly but addresses his response directly to me, holding my gaze with a fierce grip. "Because you saw the sack of bones. You found Ninette's hand. You can't tell me there's nothing to this. What if one of the women who died was someone you loved?"

At his words, I feel a strange sensation in my chest, as though my heart stops for a beat. A chill that has nothing to do with the cold stone and shadow of the Gallows settles over me, that terrible feeling of warning, foreboding, calling somewhere deep within me. _What if one of the women who dies was someone you loved?_

I glance automatically at Merrill and find her looking solemnly up at me, concern and compassion blazing from her eyes. "We should help him," she says decisively. "No one else will."

The chill around my heart clenches tight, frozen tendrils of terror reaching deep into my chest. If something were to happen to Merrill, because I failed to act... if I ignored this warning feeling and this bastard took her... but there's been nothing to suggest that the killer targets elven women, as far as Emeric has made out. Unless any that have gone missing have been below his concern, being elves. Not knowing the man too well, I am not privy to his attitude towards the elven race, so I can't be certain whether or not this might be the case. He seems a decent sort though. In any event, it wouldn't change anything. I would have looked into this matter for Emeric without needing a personal reason to become invested. After all, "Evil reigns victorious when good folk turn aside," as my father was fond of saying.

"My hands are tied," Emeric says, spreading them helplessly. Pleadingly. "I can't do this on my own. If Gascard DuPuis is guilty, he must be stopped before he kills again."

Aveline exchanges a long look with me. At my nod, she sighs. "Then we will investigate DuPuis, if only to put this to rest."

"If I'm wrong, then I'm wrong," Emeric says evenly. "At least I'll know for certain."

I meet his eye determinedly. "What do you need us to do?"

"You'll need to go to Gascard DuPuis estate after nightfall," he replies immediately, the relief clearly evident in his voice and expression. "Please figure out what DuPuis is hiding. If he's innocent, find evidence to prove me wrong." He shrugs. "It's just that simple."

I give him a curt nod, and extend my hand. "Alright. You'll hear from me soon."

He reaches out his own gauntleted one, and clasps mine firmly. "I knew I could count on you. Good luck, Hawke."

We walk away from Emeric, heading over to the armoury and weapons shops so that Fenris can peruse their wares before we leave. Once safely out of earshot, I heave a dramatic sigh. "Why is it always Hawke to the rescue?" I ask the air plaintively.

Merrill smiles up at me, cheeky glints in her lovely eyes. "You love it, ma vhenan. You know you do."

I suppose I do, in a way. Sometimes. But there are many other times when I'd much rather not be the one everyone turns to with their own personal crises. I do have problems of my own to solve on occasion, after all. "A little," I agree half-heartedly, smiling at her. I glance at the sun, not yet at its peak in the bright blue Kirkwall sky. "Quite some time to go before nightfall. I suppose if we're going to break into a nobleman's house to search for evidence of serial abductions and probable murders, tonight is as good a night as any.

Fenris turns immediately from the armoury counter, as I knew he would. "I would be pleased to accompany you, Hawke," he says, lambent green eyes intent and serious. "If the man truly is responsible for the disappearances of so many women, it would be better to go to confront him in strength."

"Count me in too, of course," Merrill puts in, rather hurriedly.

Aveline shifts her weight, looking rather uncomfortable. "I think it would be best if I sat this one out," she says slowly, a grimace of discomfort on her lips. "The City Guard has suffered enough backlash and rebuke for raiding the man's house with no real cause already. As the Captain of the Guard, I can't afford to be seen breaking into his home after he has been officially cleared of wrongdoing. Even if we were to find something to condemn him... I just can't take the risk. If a concerned and capable citizen were to look into it, however..." She glances at me apologetically.

I hasten to reassure her. "It's alright, Aveline, I understand." I grin wryly. "You'll have complete deniability, don't you worry."

I am rewarded for my efforts at lightening the mood with a look of slight exasperation. "You know I would help if I could, Hawke," she says, and I nod. "But in this case, I really need to step back. Fenris is right about strength of numbers, however. Perhaps ask someone else along. Likely all you'll find in the DuPuis mansion is a rather irate Orlesian nobleman in his bedclothes, but just in case Emeric's fears aren't groundless..."

Merrill nods her agreement. "It would be better, I think. After all, the last time we went looking for the killer, we wound up being attacked by shades and things."

She has a point. "Not a problem," I tell Aveline, and give Merrill a conspiratorial wink as a somewhat evil idea comes to me. "I'll ask Varric along. He should be on his feet again by the time we get to Lowtown, and I rather think he owes us a favour after yesterday morning. Besides, if we're going to break in to a Hightown mansion, we could use a law-breaking, lock-picking rogue on our side." I grin happily. "I hope for his sake he's steered clear of ale or spirits today, else I doubt very much if his head will be clear by nightfall."

* * *

><p>"Andraste's great flaming ass, elf!" Varric moans piteously, clutching at his temples. "Do you have to walk so <em>loud<em>? Maker's mercy, you must have lead in your boots!"

Fenris shoots the moaning dwarf a pitying, amused glance as he steps out into the street, gently closing the door of his borrowed mansion behind him. "I am not wearing boots, dwarf."

"Nor am I, Varric," Merrill reminds him brightly, trying - rather ineffectually - to keep her voice pitched low, both out of caution to ensure we aren't overheard as we attempt to sneak through the darkened streets of Hightown unobserved, and from a compassionate desire to spare Varric's aching head. "And Hawke's only wearing soft soled boots." She smiles at him, raising her finger to her rosy lips in a shushing gesture. "You know, because we're trying to be _sneaky_?"

"Point, Daisy," Varric grumbles, though his voice is markedly lower now. "But someone's making enough noise with their clomping to wake the undead!"

"That would be you, Varric," I inform him evenly. Perhaps it really wasn't such a brilliant idea to bring him along after all, if he's going to be this much use. I should send him home with a few skins of water and a stern note telling Corff not to serve him for a while. But that would probably put the Hanged Man out of business. "I can't believe you went and let yourself drink again so soon after yesterday."

Varric groans piteously. "Is it my fault Corff got in a case of Mackay's Epic Single Malt?" He licks his lips, evidently caught up in wistful memories. "Amaranthine's finest whiskey. Older than the Maker and smoother than elven baby-butt. How could I resist?"

I shake my head. "If you're not up to this, just say the word and you can stagger back down the steps to Lowtown and spend the rest of the night with your head in a basin, if you'd rather. But we have to go on."

"Alright, hero. No need to get testy," Varric grumbles. "I'll come. As quietly as I can." He looks up at me slyly. "Of course, it might help if I could walk without feeling the pavement move under me. You could, you know..." He waggles his fingers in the air and makes mystical noises. "Fix me up?" At my raised eyebrow, his voice becomes more earnestly persuasive. "Come on, Hawke! I swear, I've learned my lesson and shall moderate my drinking accordingly henceforth. Well, most of the time. Come on, I've suffered enough. Besides, it wouldn't hurt our chances of going undetected when we break into this Dupuis fellow's mansion." He widens his eyes. "Otherwise, who knows what might happen? I could trip on a rug and send a suit of armour crashing to the ground. Knock over a priceless vase. Break a teacup. All because you wouldn't help one of your oldest and dearest friends out when he needed you."

That sounds decidedly like blackmail, and not just of the emotional sort. I stop, and lead our little group into the shadows behind the ornamental row of trees separating Fenris's mansion from the entrance to the DuPuis place. Who would have thought they would turn out to be practically neighbours? Talk about convenient. At least for our purposes tonight, at any rate. Though it does somewhat diminish the likelihood that this Orlesian is in fact our killer. Likely Fenris would have noticed the screams if his neighbour was mutilating and dismembering women one door down. Still, I promised Emeric I would at least look into it and settle the matter one way or the other. For that, I need all the members of my little reconnaissance team to be in full health. Much as I think it would do my wastrel friend more good in the long run to let him suffer a little.

"Alright, Varric," I say, motioning for him to seat himself on the well cultivated patch of grass beneath the trees. Merrill hovers at my side, and Fenris takes the opportunity to lean broodily against a tree. I look down at Varric. "Let's see what we can do."

"Thanks Hawke," he sighs gratefully, sitting down with one hand gingerly rubbing his temples.

"Don't thank me," I reply, smiling grimly. "Merrill's the one who's going to take care of your little headache."

Merrill looks at me doubtfully. "I am?"

"She is?" Varric echoes, a look of surprise crossing his features. He glances at her. "I didn't know you could heal, Daisy."

"I can't," she replies promptly, then at my look she shakes her head a little and continues. "Well, that is, I can't really do very much. Hawke is teaching me a little healing magic, but I've never tried this before."

I kneel next to Varric, and pat the grass beside me invitingly. "You'll be fine," I assure her as she settles down on Varric's other side. I guide her hands to either side of Varric's head, instructing her to reach for the magic deep within her as she did when she healed my cut finger.

"Good. Now, this time you'll have to be a little more careful. Healing any head ailments, whether they be head wounds, headaches or hangovers, is not necessarily very difficult in itself. But any healing in this area requires total concentration and delicacy because the mind is so important." I watch her nod faintly, noting with pride the way in which she listens and absorbs my words without losing her focus. "If it was a head wound - internal or external bleeding, for example - you would have the extra complication of controlling the blood flow to contend with as well, since head injuries tend to bleed profusely. But since a hangover is little more than a glorified headache-" At this moment I take great satisfaction in flicking the side of Varric's undoubtedly throbbing head, smiling a little at his stifled yelp of protest, "-you won't have nearly so much trouble in healing it. Look inside his head." I follow Merrill's progress as she does as instructed. "See those shadowy areas within the skull?" I feel more than see her nod. "That's where the pain is centred. You need cover those areas in creation magic like a poultice, then let it sink in slowly..."

Merrill's brows wrinkle a little as she frowns in deep concentration.

"Yeouch! Whoa!" Varric yelps, leaping to his feet and ignoring my frantic gestures for him to be quiet. He shakes his head rapidly from side to side, and gazes at Merrill in surprise.

"Are you alright, Varric?" Merrill asks worriedly. "Was it too much? Did I hurt you?"

He grins happily at her. "Not at all, I feel fine. Great, in fact!"

"Good work, Merrill," I praise her, slipping an arm around her shoulders and squeezing gently. "That was very well done."

She beams up at me delightedly. "Thank you, ma vhenan."

Varric claps her gently on the shoulder and winks at her when she turns to look at him. "That was great, Daisy. I should get you to do that for me more often."

"Perhaps the wiser course would be to require such healings far less," Fenris drawls. "Time waits for no one. Shall we continue?"

I nod. "Better get on with it. With any luck, this DuPuis fellow is the killer after all. Then we can stop him before any other women go missing and be home in time for breakfast."

"I had a friend who went missing once," Varric muses thoughtfully as we head out into the deserted streets once more. "Turns out he was under my bed, drunk..." He looks up to find all three of us looking at him with varying degrees of amusement. "What?"

I shake my head, giving a voiceless chuckle in my throat. We round a corner and enter the street in which the DuPuis mansion proudly stands, graceful columns of pale grey stone gleaming in the moonlight. No lights burn in the windows as we walk cautiously up to the front door. Either the man is not at home, or he is abed. Varric removes a roll of lock picking tools from inside his loose cotton shirt and gets to work. Perhaps this time there really could be a chance that, if we're really very lucky indeed, we'll burst into the fellow's bedchamber to find him poised above his latest victim, knife in hand, just in time to stop the killing blow, thus saving the day and solving the mystery once and for all and beyond the shadow of a doubt, instead of coming to yet another dead and inconclusive end. Wouldn't that be nice for a change?

* * *

><p>The DuPuis estate is nothing remarkable when all is said and done. The entryway opens into a wide, open parlour, twin staircases sweeping grandly up to the second level of the mansion. Paintings, tapestries and statues ornament every wall and corner of the place, and lush rugs carpet the floors. The whole place screams opulence. At first glance, this would be nothing more than your typical Hightown mansion.<p>

That is, of course, if it weren't for the multitudes of recently deceased shades and minor demons now littering the marble-tiled floor.

Fenris lowers his blade cautiously, then straightens, nudging one already fading shade corpse with his foot. "It seems we are in the right place."

"Indeed." I flick my fingers at the lamps and candles suspended from the walls and ceilings, lighting the room in a gentle glow, uncaring about the tell-tale light. If the man is here, he will certainly have heard the racket we made fighting for our lives just now, and is either long gone or waiting in ambush. If the former, all we are really here for is evidence against him, and we can gain that much more easily without his interference. If the latter, well, I'd rather be attacked with at least some light to see by than in full dark. Humans don't tend to cast an eerie otherworldly glow the way shades and demons do. Speaking of which, if DuPuis isn't the one who has been kidnapping these women, judging by the appearance of these beings in his home, he's certainly got himself mixed up in something dangerous. I suppose we can expect a few more confrontations like those while we're here.

Perfect.

"There's dark magic here," Merrill agrees, gazing about at the otherworldly carnage. "Messere DuPuis could certainly be the man we're looking for." She wanders to the low table against the wall between the staircases, eyes roving over the scattered books and broken quills. Her sharp eyes catch on something, and she deftly pulls a slip of paper out from beneath an open book. A letter, I suppose. "It's very elegantly handwritten," she says by way of explanation for her interest in it, bringing it over for us to read. "A thank you note, it looks like. I thought maybe it might be a clue of some sort?"

I look it over and read it aloud for the benefit of everyone;

_"Gascard, _

_Thank you kindly for your last shipment. It arrived in almost perfect condition. The requested payment is on its way. Please use the artifact with care. The creatures can be difficult to control, even for an experienced mage._

_A pleasure doing business,_

_Your friend."_

"Gascard likes ancient artifacts, just like me!" Merrill says brightly. Her face falls a little as she considers the implications further. "Oh... I don't suppose that's really very good, is it?"

"It doesn't mean anything, Merrill," I assure her. "I'm sure you are nothing alike. This note does seem to indicate that Gascard may be a mage, though. An Orlesian noble apostate. How interesting."

"What shipment is he talking about?" Varric asks, indicating the place on the page where the word is mentioned. "Magical items? Body parts maybe?"

"And are the shades the creatures mentioned here?" Fenris wonders. "It seems most likely."

"Looks like Emeric's right," Varric concludes grimly. "Gascard's trying to hide something."

"He's certainly planning something with the assistance of this mysterious 'friend'," I allow grimly, and head towards the stairwell on the left. "That much is clear."

Once on the upstairs landing I poke my head into a couple of empty rooms, finding nothing inside, apart from a few tattered tapestries and broken pots, certainly not anything noteworthy. Nothing to betray DuPuis' guilt or prove his innocence at any rate, although in one of the rooms I do come across a couple of grimy old books in a chest with a broken lock. One, entitled _Book of Suggestive Caricature_,I pass on immediately to Varric, who is hard pressed to contain his mirth as he leafs through its bawdy pages. The other dusty volume is a copy of a very old book that is thought by most to be lost, all copies supposedly destroyed by the Templar Order long ago as part of a purge of blasphemous works. I gaze thoughtfully at the title embossed in fading letters on the cover. _The Search for the True Prophet_. It's an old work of some anonymous scholar, or possibly a mage, which explores the possibility that Andraste performed so many 'miracles' not because she was the Maker's chosen, but because she herself was in fact a powerful mage. This book must have been saved and kept hidden all this time. Quite a find, though dangerous to have in one's possession. If Gascard knew this was here (although the location of the book in an abandoned room and the layer of thick dust on its cover indicate otherwise), this acts as further evidence to confirm our suspicions that he is a mage, or at least has ties to one. It's weak evidence at best, though. I consider a moment, then slip the slender tome into my pouch. Might make a good present for Anders, he'd certainly appreciate it. The days are getting colder, and Santinalia - known more colloquially as "Feastday" by Fereldans- will be here soon, after all. Might as well start gathering gifts together now, while I'm thinking of it. Hm. I suppose I should have saved that dirty book to give to Varric later. Never mind. I'm sure I'll find something else for him.

Having exhausted all other avenues of exploration, I lead the way into a what appears to be a dining hall, which certainly hasn't been used to entertain much recently, going by the dust and clear neglect the room has suffered. A few tattered pieces of crumples parchment litter a table top, along with a few unwashed items of crockery and some food scraps. So it seems DuPuis eats here, at least some of the time. I spy a ribboned scroll beside a dirty plate and reach for it, but the moment that my fingertips brush the message, a fresh host of shades burst into being, emerging from cracks between paving tiles and shadows in corners to surround us, leering at us with grotesque, contorted faces as they close in for the attack.

Instantly we form up, standing back to back in a defensive square facing each corner of the room. Two shades come at me at once, weaving sinuously through the air and making extremely difficult targets of themselves but I manage to vanquish one in a single flash of lightning, turning swiftly to engulf the other in a ball of living flame.

Their unearthly dying shrieks mingle with those behind me as Varric sends a quick succession of volleys pumping through the eyes of three separate shades, yelling his triumph as he swiftly reloads. "Let's dance, you sons of bitches! Come here and give Bianca a kiss!"

Despite the raging battle I allow myself a weary sigh; though there was little chance anyone within the mansion would not have heard the noise from our first battle, they certainly won't have missed Varric's ringing victory taunts.

"Bianca, you minx, that was beautiful! One more for the dwarf!"

I turn to shoot a spirit bolt over Fenris' shoulder, finishing off a shade as it wriggles from the point of his sword and feel a rush of wind past my own cheek as a flying chunk of stone soars by my head, crashing into the bloated face of a shade directly in front of me. I risk a glance over my shoulder in time to see Merrill lower her staff. She flashes me a cheeky grin, then slams the base of her weapon into the ground, swallowing up another shade in a conflagration of spirit energy.

The last shade falls to Fenris' whirling blade, and I flick damp hair from my eyes, looking at my friends to assess the damage. Fenris has a small cut on his cheek, which I heal easily with his permission, but aside from that, all is well.

I remember the scroll and turn to search for it. The table appears to have been split in two during the fight - probably a result of an overpowered swing from a certain Tevinter elf and his giant blade - but I find the scroll unharmed beneath an overturned chair a pace or two away. Unfurling it, I read its contents aloud;

_"Messere DuPuis,_

_This is in regards to your inquiry into missing mages. I would like to remind you that the duty of seeking out missing mages, if there were any to begin with, would fall to the Templars of Starkhaven, not a minor nobleman from Kirkwall. I would also like to take this opportunity to remind you that the Circle of the Magi, as a whole, does not welcome casual inquiries about the mages in its care. _

_Thank you, _

_First Enchanter Raddick."_

Merrill frowns thoughtfully once the note is read. "Where's Starkhaven?"

"Up north," I answer absently, still studying the note. "Where Sebastian comes from."

"Why would Gascard be interested in mages from Starkhaven?" Fenris asks.

"I'm not sure," I reply. "One of the women who went missing a few years ago was a mage, but I'm fairly certain she was from the Circle here in Kirkwall. This seems to indicate Gascard was inquiring about people - mages in this case - who were already known to be missing, not looking for more victims. Perhaps he is investigating the kidnappings, like Emeric is?"

"Or maybe Gascard was looking for help from another mage," Varric suggests. "An apostate from the Circle. Someone to let in on the deal, whatever he's doing with these shades, in exchange for a chance at harnessing more power?"

"It's possible..." I allow somewhat dubiously. It seems a reasonable suggestion, but the pieces don't really fit together very well. Not yet. "Let's look around a bit more. See if we can't find something more substantial to clear this up a little."

No more shades appear to accost us as we wander the upstairs hallways, but in one empty sitting room we make a rather gruesome discovery: a little cache of bottles on a table against the wall, carefully stoppered with waxed corks. A deep red liquid glints within the clear glass. Vials of crimson bloodshed, glimmering in the glow of the magelight cradled in my palm.

"I think these have been used in blood magic," Merrill says quietly.

"If Gascard is a mage, I think we can agree he is of the maleficar variety," Varric concludes grimly.

"Another thing you two have in common," Fenris comments dryly, narrowed eyes fixed on Merrill, who responds by sticking her tongue out at him. He blinks in bemusement, taken aback, and turns away in time to see Varric and I exchange delighted grins. Recovering from his momentary astonishment, he stiffens his spine in a dignified manner and strides through an open door leading into a shadowed hallway. "Have we a task to complete, or not?" he calls over his shoulder.

I share a smile with Varric and Merrill as we follow him up the stairs to the back of the mansion. At the top, I look about, noting that there are only a couple of doors on this landing, meaning that either the man we are in search of is behind one of them, or he is long gone.

"Ma vhenan, look," Merrill says beside me, picking up a piece of parchment from a side table by the stair railing. "A letter." She scans its contents quickly, then begins to read aloud, her lilting tones instinctively hushed to prevent her voice from carrying too far._ "Messere DuPuis. Please accept my humble apologies for recent events. The Templar, Emeric, has been reprimanded for his wrongful accusations and for arousing suspicions within the city guard that led to the raid on your estate. I will see that he is restrained in future. Sincerely yours..." _She raises her brows in surprise as she reads the name of the letter's author._ "Knight-Commander Meredith."_

"An apology from Kirkwall's iron lady?" Varric intones wryly, his eyebrows rising almost into his sleek blonde hair. "That must've been a first."

"Clever," comments Fenris. "He stopped Emeric from investigating by getting Meredith on his side."

Merrill shakes her head sadly, placing the letter back on the table. "Poor Emeric. No one believed him."

"Which way, Hawke?" Varric asks softly, Bianca at the ready in his fingers.

I shrug, and choose a room at random, cautiously opening the door onto what appears to be a guest chamber, furnished simply with a pair of small beds and a few plain chests. Varric picks the lock on one, flipping the lid to reveal a stash of clothing.

"Why's he keeping these things around?" Varric wonders, grabbing up a fistful of the topmost item - a fine dress - and showing us. "I thought Gascard lived alone."

"Hmm." Fenris crouches beside him, examining the contents of the chest. "Women's clothing."

"Those clothes are so fine!" Merrill exclaims. "They must be very valuable. Maybe they belong to a noblewoman. Perhaps Gascard has relatives, or he got this mansion for someone else. Do you think he has a sweetheart?"

" Perhaps they were taken off the murdered women," Fenris speculates grimly. "If so, then this damning evidence."

Merrill frowns. "Were they Ninette's, do you suppose? Her horrible husband might know, if we could find him. Unless some other noblewomen have gone missing?"

We've no time to debate it further as the sounds of a struggle echo down the hallway, followed by the frantic tones of a woman's voice, muffled as though coming through a closed door. With wordless agreement we draw our weapons and dash down the hall, abandoning all pretence at quiet sneaking and bursting into the room at the far end.

A middle aged woman trembles on the floor of the grand bedchamber, arm raised as if to fend off the young man standing over her with a short, nasty blade in his hand. She turns to look at us, naked fear on her face.

"Help me! _Please!_" she screams, hope warring with desperate terror in her face as she sees us. "He's gone mad!"

"Stop where you are!" I say roughly to her assailant, who stands in place unmoving as the woman at his feet inches away from him slowly. I don't want to kill him if I can help it. He has too much to answer for. It seems Emeric was right... although the way the man is standing protectively over the woman makes him look rather more like he is defending her rather than threatening her. I signal the others to hold in place and watch. There's something unexpected happening here. I want to figure out what, though still remaining ready to jump in the moment this man makes any sort of move to threaten the woman. Or us, for that matter.

The man peers at us almost dazedly, his expression clouded with confusion. "You're not... you're not him," he says slowly, the Orlesian accent plain in his words. His eyes widen and he lowers the knife swiftly, though he doesn't relinquish it. He glances wildly about, taking in each of us in turn: Varric with his crossbow levelled point blank at the murderer's chest; Fenris standing silent and condemning with a bared blade in his hand; Merrill and I side by side with our staffs held in readiness.

"Shit!" Dupuis exclaims, running a hand over his reddish hair, pulled back smoothly in a tail at the nape of his neck. He glances at the woman on the floor, then back at us. "I... know what this looks like, but I didn't hurt her!"

I raise an eyebrow, glancing pointedly between him and the fear-crazed woman on the floor. "So the wild-eyed hysteria is just for show, then?"

DuPuis holds one hand palm up in a pleading gesture. "You don't understand. Someone is after her. I had to keep her safe!" he says quickly, and I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes as he speaks, clearly trying to figure out who we are and what we want with him. He is a mage, I can feel the mana in him, but it is nothing compared to the power I or Merrill can command. He is staffless, outnumbered and far outmatched, and he knows it. His eyes dart from face to face, chest heaving with panicked breaths. "I don't know why you're here, but there's a killer out there, and I think he's playing us both. Just... just let me explain!"

I indicate the woman on the ground with a tilt of my head, keeping my hands firmly planted on my staff. "Let her go, and we can talk. Just step away from her."

Gascard shakes his head, drawing closer to the woman. "If I let her go, you'll kill me!" he cries, fingers tensing convulsively on the hilt of his blade, causing the woman to freeze with a cry of terror. He starts at the noise and glances at her as if in surprise, then makes a clearly conscious effort to unclench his fist and lower his arm, trying to appear less threatening. He looks at us desperately. "Just hear me out!"

I let a few moments pass as I pretend to think it over. I don't intend to kill him in cold blood but he can't know that. The threat of impending death may convince him to be honest, or at least to invent a very entertaining tale. At last I shrug indifferently, relaxing my grip on my staff, seeing the others follow my lead and lowering their own weapons. "Alright, I'll hear what you have to say. Let's see if you can talk yourself out of this." I give him a dubious look. "But I have to tell you, so far it doesn't look good."

Varric winks up at me. "Twenty silver if he says 'it wasn't me, it was the one-armed man!'" he whispers loudly.

Gascard doesn't appear to hear him. He takes several deep breaths, calming himself before he begins his story. "Several years ago, my sister was murdered," he says, his voice filled with vengeful anger. "The bastard's now in Kirkwall, killing again. The same way he killed my sister." He runs a hand over his hair again, apparently a nervous habit. "It starts with a bouquet of white lilies. He sends them to each new victim. Alessa was going to be next. I took her so he'd have to come to me. I was finally going to face my sister's killer, but then _you_ showed up." DuPuis shoots us an accusing glare.

"He's lying!" Alessa sobs, raising her hand to show us the neat bandage across her palm. "He hurt me!"

Gascard tuts in annoyance. "I've explained this!" He squats down next to her, ignoring her gasp of fear as she cringes away from him. "I need your blood to track you down if _he_ took you. It was for your protection!" he explains earnestly, taking her bandaged hand between his own. The sight of it does make me wonder why he would bother to dress her wound if he meant to kill her. A point in his favour regarding his story, I suppose.

"Let go of me!" Alessa cries, giving him a forceful shove with her good hand and sending him sprawling. She staggers to her feet with a desperate cry, and I move aside to let her pass as she runs for the door, disappearing down the hallway. Gascard lurches to his feet and makes as though to dash after her, but Fenris ghosts forward and slams him almost gleefully back down to the ground.

DuPuis sits up slowly, groaning, and fixes us with a baleful stare. "She'll go straight to the city guard," he says resentfully. "They'll ruin everything."

"So?" I challenge. "If you're so innocent, can't you just tell the city guard what you told me about the real killer?"

DuPuis looks perplexed. "Why? I don't want him arrested." His face hardens, a dangerous glint in his eye. "This isn't about justice. _I _need to be the one to bleed him dry."

Merrill makes a disgusted face. "That's... more than a bit creepy, you know."

"Besides," Gascard continues as if she hadn't spoken. "They probably wouldn't even hear me out."

"I see," I say softly. "And you're doing such a _marvellous_ job of catching him on your own. As it happens, I've been sent here by a friend in the guard to look into these murders. If they knew what you just told me, more deaths could be prevented." I can just hear what Aveline would have said to this fool if she were here. _Selfish little shit. How many have you risked by keeping this to yourself?_ I give him a hard look. "I could report you to the Templars for blood magic, you know." I doubt if I would - what a hypocrite that would make of me, considering the close company I keep - but he doesn't need to know that. No more than he needs to know that if I had caught him in the act of actually harming that woman in any way, for her "protection" or otherwise, I likely would simply have killed him on the spot. "Any reason I shouldn't?"

He gives an odd smirk and gestures to the staffs Merrill and I both carry. "Because I could in turn report a pair of apostates in Kirkwall living right under their noses, if you do not let me go. Those staffs would be enough to condemn you, if my word is not."

"What, this?" Merrill says, her tone full of innocence. She gives him an ingenuous half-smile. "This is just a walking stick, messere. I carry it everywhere."

"And everyone knows Hawke's weapon of choice is the quarterstaff," Varric informs him with false jocularity. "I've made sure of that."

"You, on the other hand, were discovered standing over a kidnapped woman with a blade in your hand, in a house with rooms full of discarded women's clothing, demons, and vials of blood," Fenris chimes in, a grim look of satisfaction on his face. "Hawke has the backing of the nobles and the city guard. Your word against ours, maleficar."

DuPuis sighs, defeated. "Yes, I've used blood magic and lyrium to augment my powers. I'm not proud of what I've done, but I had to." His expression twists into a mask of pain and hate. "He took my sister from me."

I stay silent a moment or two, pondering. Unless Gascard is a remarkable play-actor, the fury and grief evident in his voice and expression lead me to believe he is telling the truth. A dull ache spreads numbingly through my chest as I remember the moment of Bethany's death, of the ogre's grasping hands crushing her body tight, bringing her down again and again on the hard, sun-baked ground. The utter anguish that filled me as the creature flung her broken body thoughtlessly away, and the killing rage that followed as I struck it down myself. Destroying the monster that killed my little sister did nothing to ease the pain of her death, or to assuage the guilt that I could not save her. But how would I have felt if I had somehow been prevented from slaying the ogre that day, if we had lived but it had escaped? What would I do in Gascard's shoes if Bethany had been killed by a murderer such as the one loose in Kirkwall, what lengths would I have gone to in order to exact my vengeance?

"Let's say I believe you," I say at last, looking into Gascard's blazing green eyes. " Tell me about him, then. Who killed your sister?"

A look flashes into DuPuis' eyes but vanishes so quickly that I can't tell what it was. Relief, certainly, but what kind? Grateful that I seem to believe him, or triumphant that he appears to have deceived me? "A powerful and experienced blood mage," Gascard replies quickly, rattling off his information as though I may kill him if he dares draw breath between words. "I believe he uses the women for some ritual. His victims are attractive, healthy women with few social ties."

"Emeric was certain you were the killer," Fenris comments from just behind me, to the left. I can almost hear the raised eyebrow in his low, cool voice.

"Of course he was. But I was trying to find the killer, just like him," DuPuis shoots back, eyes narrowing. He shakes his head, mouth twisted in scorn. "Our paths crossed, and he just assumed I was the murderer."

"Well, you can't really blame Emeric for that," Merrill informs him seriously, though not unkindly. Apart from a disdainful glance in her direction, Gascard gives no acknowledgement that he heard her comment at all.

I cross my arms, giving the man a derisive look of my own. "You really did make yourself a target for suspicion," I agree, pinning him under my gaze. "Kidnapping people and all."

He shrugs in apparent ambivalence. "I suppose that's fair," he admits grudgingly, his voice curt.

I stand observing him for a moment, considering his words and behaviour. He could be telling the truth and if he is, I can sympathise. Though I can't excuse his failing to inform the guards of what he claims to know about the killer, not when doing so has allowed more victims to suffer. If I were in his place, and the authorities had not succeeded in apprehending the murderer, doubtless I would have... no, I _know_ I would have taken matters into my own hands. But I am also certain I would have actually been successful, and far quicker too. Even if he isn't telling the truth, I don't believe he is the killer. But there is something about this situation, about _him_, that tells me not to trust him completely. "I need to tell Emeric about this," I warn him at last, watching closely to see his reaction. "He'll want to know what happened here."

DuPuis gives me a flat stare. "Tell him whatever you like," he says disinterestedly. "I'll be long gone by then."

Speaking with this man has become decidedly unpleasant. The longer I speak with him, the longer I am sure something just isn't right here, but I can't put my finger on it. I sense I won't find out anything more by merely talking to him. I'll let him go, for now. And keep a watch on him, if possible. "You can go," I tell him shortly, raising a hand and pointing to the door. "Time for you to vanish. Every man for himself."

DuPuis strides towards the door without hesitation, every step proud and full of confidence. "I'm headed to Darktown," he says over his shoulder as he reaches the door. "If you learn anything new about the killer, find me there. I've a score to settle with him."

"Hawke, are we really letting him-" Varric begins as Gascard rounds the corner out of sight, but I hold up a finger to forestall him and the others take their cue from me, remaining silent. I wait a few more moments, then quietly ask Fenris to follow him as discreetly as possible to see if the arrogant Orlesian does in fact head to Darktown. Fenris nods and ghosts silently after him, leaving evanescent trails of lyrium light in his wake. Varric, Merrill and I remain where we are, examining the room for further clues about Gascard's character, though we find nothing even remotely of interest.

At last Fenris reappears, his return heralded by his quiet padding footsteps on the carpet-covered stones of the hallway. "I followed him through Hightown to the stairwell leading to the old elevator platform into the Undercity," he reports. "He took it down. I remained watchful until I heard the lift reach the bottom of the shaft. He is certainly in Darktown. Whether he will remain there is another matter." He pauses, and adds, "I saw no sign of the woman he was holding captive. She must have returned home."

"Thank you, Fenris." I give him a nod and a smile, which he acknowledges with a graceful half-bow. I turn to Varric. "Would you be able to arrange for one of your little eyes-and-ears to keep tabs on him and report on his movements, or if he does anything suspicious? I'll pay them well for it."

My dwarven friend grins, giving me a bow in imitation of Fenris's, though Varric's is clearly mocking. "Of course," he assures me. "Consider it done the moment I get back to my quarters. Speaking of which, could we call it a night now? I can think of nothing I'd rather do than crawl into my nice warm bed." A leery smirk crosses his features. "Unless of course I had someone to crawl in with me."

"Don't look at me, dwarf," Fenris drawls amusedly.

"Alright, let's go home," I say, laughing and leading the way down the hall. "I will go see Emeric tomorrow morning. Or afternoon, perhaps. For now, I think we're all due for a good long rest."

I smile at Merrill, taking her warm little hand in mine and indulging in some very pleasant thoughts involving the two of _us_ crawling into bed later. As long as Varric will have one of his little urchin spies watch DuPuis for me, hopefully I will be the first to know if he engages in any suspicious activity, which sets my mind at ease on the matter. I do intend to report him though. Not for blood magic. He only set his shades on us because he thought the killer was coming to him, after all, and I've no desire to betray him as a mage. But the man did kidnap a woman and whatever his intentions were, he still held her against her will and inflicted bodily harm on her. No matter that it was only a small cut and probably the worst treatment she had ever received in her privileged life, it was still a terrifying experience for her, one that ought to be answered for. Not to mention he withheld knowledge about a serial murderer from the city guard, allowing the killings to continue unabated so that he could try - unsuccessfully - to mete out his own brand of vigilante justice. If Alessa wants him held accountable, or if Aveline wants to find him, the guard can handle it now. Tomorrow, Merrill and I will go to the Keep to speak with Aveline, then go out to the bloody Gallows - again - to talk to Emeric.

Now, I think we've earned ourselves a good long rest.

* * *

><p>"Selfish little shit!" Aveline curses loudly the next afternoon when I inform her of DuPuis' actions, and his withholding of information on a possible murderer in Kirkwall's streets. She shakes her head. "I'll certainly be looking into this more closely, Hawke. You can give Emeric my word on that. Does this Alessa want DuPuis brought in?"<p>

"I don't know," I tell her. "She ran off, and I'm not certain where she lives. I assume one of the estates in Hightown, close by DuPuis' mansion. She looked and spoke like a noble, and Fenris saw no sign of her when he went to follow DuPuis."

"I'll have her found, and see if she's alright," Aveline promises. "If she wants charges pressed, then we'll go after DuPuis. Where did you say he was headed?"

"Darktown," Merrill tells her. "We aren't sure where, though. But we might see him later, after we visit Emeric." She smiles at me, holding up the cloth wrapped bundle she insisted on carrying for me. "Hawke wants to show Vigilance to Anders. He's so fond of telling us about how he knows Mahariel - the Warden Commander, I mean. He might be able to tell us something about it. Seeing as how it might have magical properties, and all."

Aveline nods. "A good idea." She gives me a serious look. "See that you get a scabbard for that thing soon. It's sharp enough to cut through that cloth if you hold it the wrong way. But I wouldn't take to wearing it before you really know well how to use it. It will make you more of a target before you're ready. Come speak to me when you have a moment, and we can organise a day to begin training, if you'd like."

I smile, surprising myself with just how much I would like that. "I will, I promise. But we really should be going now, before the last ferry sails. "

We exchange our farewells and leave her office with more reassurances that she will look more closely into the matter, then head straight to the docks to catch the next Gallows-bound boat.

Emeric is nowhere to be seen in the Gallows courtyard. I decide to wait for a while, preferring to give him time to show himself rather than having to speak directly to another Templar to learn his whereabouts. Merrill and I wander over to the weapon smith's stall and show him Vigilance, letting him exclaim excitedly over the blade for a few minutes before I purchase a black, serviceable leather scabbard with just a little delicate scrollwork in intricate strands of worked silver thread as decoration. Nothing too ostentatious, but a blade as fine as Vigilance deserves a good sheath to call home. It makes a satisfying whisper as I slide the blade into its new home. Merrill takes it from my hands, evidently still intent on carrying it for me, perhaps to ensure I follow Aveline's suggestion and refrain from putting it on until I'm better trained. Or perhaps she just likes holding something that once belonged to her childhood friend.

By the time my transaction is completed, Emeric still hasn't appeared. I sigh as I exchange a look with Merrill, then walk slowly over to the least threatening-looking Templar in sight, a young red-headed woman in the uniform of a lieutenant who gives her name as Moira when greet her. She shakes her head no when I ask her if Emeric is about, then pauses, looking more closely at my face.

"Aren't you Hawke?" Moira asks, giving an approving look at the ornate hilt of the sheathed sword Merrill is holding as she speaks to me. "I saw you speaking with Emeric yesterday. He left not long ago. Said you'd arranged to meet tonight."

I blink in confusion. "Really? Did I tell him that?" I frown, trying to remember. "I must have completely forgotten."

"No, ma vhenan," Merrill says quietly beside me. "We didn't arrange anything. We never said when we'd come and find him, only that we would when we were finished with his business."

I thought that's what we'd told him. Why would he think otherwise? A sinister chill runs through me. "Are you sure that's what he said?" I ask the Templar. "Perhaps you're mistaken."

She shakes her head. "I am not mistaken. You sent him a message a half hour ago. He left it with me to let Knight-Captain Cullen know where Emeric went if Cullen wanted him." She pulls a folded parchment letter from her belt and opens it to show me. "Look."

I take the letter, frowning at the unfamiliar words telling Emeric to meet the sender of the message in Blind Alley, a notoriously dangerous spot in Lowtown. This is not written in my hand, nor does it have my seal. "I didn't send this."

"You didn't? Strange." Moira looks concerned for a moment, glancing at me with an odd expression in her eyes, then appears to brush it off. "Well, I don't know. Emeric's been acting strangely for months." She shrugs, giving us a small, unconvincing attempt at a reassuring smile. "It's probably just a misunderstanding."

"More than likely," I agree, equally unconvincing. I tuck the letter into my pocket, intending to destroy it later if I must. If anything untoward has happened to Emeric, I don't want there to be anything that could be used as evidence to implicate me. If the Templars wanted someone to blame, I doubt they'd care that this note was obviously forged, and I could do without Templar scrutiny for many reasons besides being an apostate. "Well, thank you for this. We'd best be going now."

Moira gives us a strange sort of look, though she waves us on. As we turn to leave, however, I risk a glance back over my shoulder and see the lieutenant still standing there, watching us suspiciously. Once out of her sight, Merrill and I begin to walk faster, breaking into a run for the next boat as we reach the Gallows' docks, both of us knowing the danger Emeric is in without the need for words. Blind Alley is so named because the houses are so tall on all surrounding sides that they cast a deep, perpetual shadow across the lane in between. Even when the day is bright, the alleyway is dark. There's only one reason anyone would have for sending Emeric to a place like Blind Alley.

It's a trap.

* * *

><p>By the time we get to Lowtown, we know it's too late.<p>

The alley is deathly quiet as we enter, the shadows already deepening as the sun begins to fall in the sky. There's not another living soul to be seen outside of the dilapidated houses and shanties lining either side of the silent street, the only sound the eerie moan of the wind as it howls about the eaves of the crumbling buildings. It's so dark we don't even see any sign of Emeric at all until we practically trip over him.

Merrill exclaims unhappily at the sight of his torn, broken form, and I drop to one knee beside him, laying my staff down at his side and feeling out with my magic though I know it's too late. There's not a trace of life left within him. His cold body lies in a pool of his own congealing blood, the flesh raked and torn as though by many claws. I feel the traces of dark power in the air and shudder. No natural creature did this to him.

"Ma vhenan!" Merrill cries softly in alarm. I stand up and turn to find her staring at the longsword in her hands, feeling mildly surprised at the sight of it. I'd forgotten she was holding it for me. She lifts her gaze to mine and holds Vigilance out to me. I stare as I see what she is trying to show me. Faint light glares around the base of the hilt where Vigilance is hidden in its new scabbard. "Look, Hawke..." Merrill says, her voice hushed, and draws the blade out a few inches from its sheath. I shield my eyes instinctively at the sudden flaring glow, then take the sword from her hands and unsheathe it a little more to find the runes embedded in the length of the blade glowing a sickly green, luminous in the darkness.

We both stare down at it. "Why is it doing that?" Merrill whispers in consternation. "What does it mean?"

Growing whispers in the darkest corners alert me, and I toss the scabbard aside, freeing the blade completely. "I think I know. The trap hasn't quite sprung yet, it seems. Shades!" Too late to retrieve my staff from beside Emeric's body, I raise the sword up before me as the horde of shades descends upon us, hissing and seething like oily shadows. Merrill strikes forward with her staff, bolts of spirit energy cleaving shades apart left and right. I slash warningly at a nearby creature with Vigilance as I call on my mana, and feel to my surprise an echoing resonance from the blade. I point the tip experimentally toward an oncoming shade, focusing my mana and using the sword as a conduit for my power as I would a staff. A shaft of fire bursts from the end of it, and my target fairly explodes into flames. I grin, delighted at this discovery, and lay into the battle, sometimes using my sword as a staff, but more often than not simply swinging the razor steel through the bodies of the shades, enjoying the feel of the sharp edge biting deep into the otherworldly flesh, becoming caught up in the satisfaction of physical exertion until at last I am not using my magic at all, only the blade itself. All the drills Father taught me, the repetitive exercises felt and remembered by the body far deeper than conscious thought, come completely back to me as I slash and sweep the blade about, the precise, practiced movements becoming real, translating into battlefield moves against a true foe.

At last the bulk of our attackers diminishes. I dispatch the stragglers with ease, the green glow of the blade fading as the last shade falls. I turn, triumphant and grinning like a madwoman, to find Merrill standing with her staff clasped tightly in both hands like a quarterstaff, watching me with big eyes, her lips parted in excitement, her cheeks flushed. "Ma vhenan," she manages to gasp. "That was... You were..."

"By Andraste!" I jump as the voice of the Templar lieutenant, Moira, echoes through the alleyway. A moment later she emerges into the light, sword bared in her gauntleted hand and breathing heavily as though winded from running a great distance. She catches her breath, sheathing her blade as she glances quickly around, then meets my eyes. "Forgive me, but I had to follow you. Emeric, the alleyway... Something just didn't add up, but I see this trap was meant for you as well. I had to wait for the next boat to leave the Gallows. I saw you fighting those creatures, but clearly I was too late. And not needed, so it would seem." I feel a moment's panic as I wonder just how much of the fight she witnessed - did she see us using magic? Does she think us responsible for the shades, for Emeric's death? - but my fears are alleviated in the next breath as she stares unhappily down at Emeric's body.

"Some mage sent those things here to kill him. Why would anyone..." Her eyes widen, and she looks up at me quickly. "Oh, Maker. The murders. Emeric was right. He was getting too close." I nod, confirming my belief in her theory, and she runs her fingers through her hair, cursing. "I should have listened to him! He suspected man named Gascard DuPuis. Did he do this?"

I hesitate, unsure. Gascard clearly has the ability to summon minor shades and demons, but I don't believe that he summoned them in this case. They attacked us too, after all, and if Gascard could have done away with us - and wanted to, for that matter - he would have summoned them back at his mansion. These were too powerful for him. I don't fully trust Gascard's motivations, but I am deeply unwilling to betray a fellow mage to the Templars, particularly when I don't believe he is responsible. Not for this, anyway. "It's not that simple. I can't be certain of anything. Gascard may have tricked me, but I don't think he was responsible for the murders, or this. But I think he is involved somehow. If so, he is only a small piece of the puzzle. The real killer is still out there." I pause. "Gascard believed that the killer always sends white lilies to his intended victim before he takes them. It's not much to go on, but it's something to be aware of. I've already let the captain of the city guard know."

Moira sighs. "We should have believed Emeric. I thought he was just trying for one last shot at glory." She looks down at Emeric's crumpled form sadly. "Whoever did this is a dangerous apostate that Meredith will want found. I will see to it personally." She holds out her hand to me, giving me a respectful nod as I grip it. "Thank you for your help in this matter. If you learn anything more, please come to me."

"I will," I reply, not knowing myself whether or not this is a lie. She seems an alright sort, for a Templar, but I'd still rather keep my distance all the same. I wipe my blade clean on a corner of my cloak, grimacing with distaste at the stain left behind, then look at Moira. "Will you be alright if I take my leave of you here? You should wait at the entrance to the street, for safety. I'll send a runner to the Keep for you to tell the guard to send someone to help with Emeric's body."

"I appreciate that," Moira replies. "I'll stay with him, keep the pickpockets away. I won't have him disrespected. I can handle myself perfectly well against the gangs, if that's what you're worried about. I doubt if there are any more of these creatures about, but I've been trained to handle them too. Perhaps not so many at once, but it seems you've taken care of the bulk of them." She takes another glance around at the carnage, and gestures between me and Merrill, who is standing quietly with her staff in her hands, trying not to attract the Templar's attention. "You and your friend with the quarterstaff are exceptional fighters to fell so many monsters by yourselves. I saw you take down the last of them just as I got here, Hawke." She smiles at me, a look of deep respect in her eyes. "You're a demon with that sword. The Templars could certainly use a warrior such as you, if ever you're interested."

I suppress a grim smile at the irony. "Perhaps I will keep that in mind."

Moira draws her sword, planting her feet and standing protectively over Emeric, eyes searching the shadows for any threat. I duck behind her back and discreetly retrieve my staff from beside Emeric's body, then pick up the discarded scabbard and resheathe Vigilance. I beckon to Merrill and we make our way out of the alleyway, stopping the first messenger boy who crosses our path and sending him off to the guard barracks with a silver coin, instructing him to give my name to the Guard-Captain herself and ask her to send help for Moira in caring for Emeric.

It was a trap. Emeric should have seen that. Perhaps the Templars don't know the city as well as the guard, but still. It's a damn shame. Odd to think that about a Templar. But then, they're not all terrible. Not when they don't know that you're a mage.

"Poor Emeric," Merrill sighs at my side, her thoughts echoing mine. "He tried so hard. And no one listened to him until it was too late."

I nod, slipping an arm about her waist. "Not a happy ending to his tale. But he got people believing in the end, even if he didn't live to see it. He did well. The Guard and at least one Templar will be looking into these murders now."

"Yes. I don't suppose that Moira person will give up on it anytime soon. She really seemed to feel badly about what happened to Emeric," Merrill muses softly. She looks up at me. "When she first came into the alleyway, I was so worried that she might have seen us fighting with magic. But she didn't. She only saw you killing the last of them with that sword." She gives a happy little sigh. "Oh, ma vhenan, you were so impressive! You looked so... so... _amazing_..." She makes an appreciative noise, then notices the delighted grin I'm giving her and blushes to the tips of her ears. "Well, you did. You look very good with a sword in your hand. And Vigilance functions like a staff! It's very powerful. And such a good disguise! Who would ever think a mage would carry something like this?"

"It certainly came in handy today," I agree. "If Moira had come just a few minutes earlier, she would have seen us throwing fireballs though. Then it would have been a very different story." We would have had to ensure her silence to protect us, somehow. Perhaps kill her, even. My mind shies away from the thought. "I couldn't have killed all those shades using just the sword alone, not at the level I'm at. Certainly I couldn't have done so well against armed and armoured opponents either. That call was rather too close for comfort."

"Perhaps you should start learning the sword from Aveline soon," Merrill says as we leave the alleyway, stepping into the afternoon light of the Lowtown market street. "Then we can rely more heavily on more ordinary forms of defence when we have to. And I'll learn some knife tricks from Isabela!"

I smile. "I'd like to see that." I lift the sword in my hands, looking at Merrill questioningly. "Do you still feel like showing Vigilance to Anders? There's still time before it grows too dark if we don't take too long."

Merrill gives a little sigh but nods. "I won't say I'm not tired, but we are already here. And it might be more helpful for him to look at it now that you've only just used it in battle. We can examine it more thoroughly, see what other exciting things it might be able to do." She pauses, and looks over her shoulder towards the bridge back to Hightown, and the many, many sets of stairs. "And I really, _really_ don't want to walk all that way up there tonight just to come back down here again tomorrow."

I pull her close, kissing the top of her head. "Well reasoned," I laugh, feeling warmth blossom in my chest as she beams up at me, her smile sweeter than strawberry-topped sugar cakes. We turn and make our way slowly towards the nearest lift shaft to Darktown. "Alright. We'll stop by the clinic and see what Anders has to say of Vigilance. And if it's too late or we're too tired to tackle the trek to Hightown by the time we make it back to the surface, we'll stay the night in your Alienage house. How does that sound?"

"Nice, and quiet," Merrill replies, her lithe arm squeezing me tight about the waist as we walk along. She gives me a cheeky little grin. "And private."

I shiver in anticipation. "You make an excellent point," I manage as we reach the darkened mouth of the lift shaft. We step inside onto the waiting platform, but before I turn to the tiresome task of lowering the lift I pull Merrill to me, relying on the cover of shadows to keep us from prying eyes. "Forget Hightown tonight," I murmur, staring deep into her magnificent eyes. "A quick trip to Darktown and then straight to the Alienage. I'll send a runner to the estate so they know not to expect us. We can crawl into bed and spend all night alone watching the stars through your ceiling." I smile, nuzzling her ear gently, enjoying her quiet gasp. "And do other things, of course."

"Mmm," Merrill smiles, twining her arms about my neck as I lower my mouth to hers. "That sounds absolutely _wonderful_, ma vhenan."


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's note:**

_Hi, sorry, it's been way too long again, I know. That's why I'm posting this. It's really only half the chapter it was supposed to be, but I'm not getting nearly enough time to write. 3 jobs, 6 day working weeks. Sorry! I'm compromising by splitting up my latest chapter into two halves. The second half is thoroughly planned out and a good deal of it is written, but it will still take me a while to finish. So here's the first half. I'll have the second half up soon I hope. Don't worry, I'm not going to leave the end of this one in any nasty sort of cliffhanger. It just won't be as interesting a chapter as if I had managed to get it all written up._

_I'll have it up before Dragon Age Inquisition is released (at which point I will naturally want to spend pretty much all my limited free time playing), barring serious injury or similar. Shouldn't be too hard to live up to that deadline. Especially since they keep pushing back the release date! ;p_

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><p>xxx H xxx<p>

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><p>"Well, Andraste's flaming knicker-weasels," Anders exclaims softly, cradling the magical sword almost reverently in his long-fingered hands. "Vigilance. Never dreamed I'd see this blade again."<p>

The torchlight dimly illuminating the gloomy back rooms of the clinic sets the sharp steel gleaming as Anders raises the blade, examining every inch of it with a fond, nostalgic gaze. I fidget impatiently as the moments draw out, and the former Grey Warden continues to gaze at the blade with rapturous intensity, as though it were engraved with depictions of sylphs and nymphs dancing naked in the moonlight, or something equally as fascinating.

At length, my patience wears thin. I clear my throat. "So..." I begin, waiting until Anders tears his eyes away from the sword to continue. "It really is the Hero's sword?"

"Oh, yes," Anders confirms. "I'd know this blade anywhere. It was stolen from Vigil's Keep by the Antivan Crows some time ago, but there's no mistaking it. There's not another like it in all of Thedas. I was there when she had it forged. I served under her at Vigil's Keep, you know." He smiles, a reminiscent and somewhat smug sort of tone entering his voice. "In fact, she conscripted me herself. Mahariel, I mean. The Warden-Commander."

"Yes," Merrill drawls with pointed dryness. "I'm quite familiar with Mahariel of the Sabrae, thank you very much. And we know that you knew her for a little while. You've mentioned a word or two about it here and there."

_Every chance he gets. _I smile a little, watching Anders blush and cough to give himself a little time to regain his composure.

"The Warden had Vigilance forged by a master craftsman, Wade, who had relocated his armoury to Vigil's Keep from Denerim, in order to provide the Grey Wardens with his expert assistance," Anders says, his tone that of a man caught up in a fond old memory. "We had been investigating the disappearance of a Grey Warden in the wetlands near the Keep, called the Blackmarsh - that's a whole different story. Naturally, we managed to turn a simple investigation into a whole range of different trials and misfortunes, among them awakening the Queen of the Blackmarsh; the spirit of an ancient dragon who once lived in the wetlands." He pauses hopefully, as though waiting for me to say something. An exclamation of shock and awe, perhaps. It sounds like it could be a fascinating story, if told by someone who wasn't so obviously hoping to impress me.

"Clearly, you all defeated her and lived to tell the tale," I quip, prompting him to get on with it. I really just want to hear about Vigilance, not listen to Anders brag. "Well done. And the sword?"

"Mahariel found the dragon's bones after the spectre was vanquished," Anders continues, looking a little put out. "Dragonbone is stronger than steel, stronger even than ironwood. She took them to Wade, who was able to use them to forge Vigilance. It's one of a kind."

"That's true enough," I agree. "When I fought with it, I could use it to channel my magic. How could that be? Dragonbone isn't inherently magical as a weapons material."

"No, not without alteration. Like the making of staves, when forging an enchanted weapon, you have to approach the crafting material with a conscious intent to make it conducive to magical abilities."

"But Mahariel wanted this sword for her own personal use, didn't she?" I query, somewhat baffled. "I know some warriors favour weapons with protective spells or enchantments to improve damage, but why would she want to bother making the sword conduct magic like a staff? She isn't a mage. Is she?" I direct this last question softly to Merrill, who shakes her head.

"No," she replies. " Her father was - he was our Keeper before Marethari - but the gift did not pass to his daughter."

"The Warden-Commander knew what she wanted when she commissioned the sword," Anders answers. "She wanted to use it for her lifetime, but then pass it on to her successor, whoever that might be. And since the Wardens don't discriminate against those with magical abilities, that person could very well have been a mage. Mahariel was very specific about what kind of properties she wanted the Warden-Commander's blade to have. Vigilance is perfectly balanced, sharper than dragon's teeth, stronger than ironwood and just as light. It is imbued with enchantments of defence and offence, and runes that enable any mage handling the weapon to store their mana inside it, to amplify its own effects and act as a reserve for the wielder to draw on. Much as drinking lyrium restores mana, except this would be one's own mana, stockpiled within the blade for later use. The blade can contain a significant amount of power, allowing the mage to regenerate mana, essentially doubling the mana store available to them as long as they have the sword in their possession, until the reserve is used up."

Merrill and I exchange an awed glance. "Quite a weapon indeed," I exclaim softly. "She thought of all this herself?"

Anders grins, nodding, eyes filled pride at the foresight of his former Commander. "She said that since swords live longer than people, she wanted a weapon that was as useful and powerful in the hands of a magic-wielder as it would be in the hands of a non-magical fighter."

I nod to myself, liking the woman's reasoning. "It would have taken a great deal of time and expertise to create such a weapon," I comment.

"The armourer, Wade, was no mage himself, but he had studied the craft of imbuing weapons with magical properties," Anders tells us. "He knew how to enchant weapons and how to work with lyrium, though it left him a little funny. Mahariel asked me and Velanna to assist by providing Wade with enchantments and runes, filling the gaps where his knowledge failed him."

Merrill perks up her ears almost visibly at the name. "Velanna?" she repeats curiously. "That's a Dalish name."

Anders nods. "She was a Dalish. A former First, in fact, before she joined the Wardens. She joined up with Mahariel because she wanted help finding her missing sister. More than half mad by the time she became part of our little group, if you ask me." He gives Merrill a measured look. "She was an outcast from her clan, too. Interesting. You two have quite a bit in common, actually."

Merrill glares daggers at him. "I am not an outcast. I chose to live apart from my clan. They are still my clan. Nor am I mad, nor a Warden, nor missing a sister, thank you very much."

"Velanna helped enchant the blade?" I interject, catching Anders' eyes pointedly.

He nods. "Yes, and so did Mahariel in fact."

Merrill frowns. "But Mahariel was no mage," she objects.

"She had knowledge that proved invaluable. Velanna and I altered the sword and gave it magical properties, following Mahariel's specific instructions. The result was a blade that a mage might be very interested in. Mahariel wanted it to be crafted to function as both a staff and a sword, fit for an Arcane Warrior."

"I don't think I've heard of Arcane Warriors," I say, frowning.

"I have," Merrill says quietly, awe in her voice. I look down into her delicate, heart-shaped face. "It is an elven branch of magic," she explains in answer to the questions in my mind. "Ancient, only heard of in stories now."

"Not any longer," Anders announces, a hint of triumph in his eyes as he voices claim to knowledge Merrill evidently is not privy to. The faintest suggestion of a grin turns his mouth as she looks at him in surprise. "During her time aiding one of the Dalish clans before the Blight was ended, Mahariel uncovered some ancient elven ruins in the Brecilian forest," he tells us. I feel an involuntary bristling at the smugness in his tone. He is enjoying telling Merrill of her former clan-mates adventures a little too much. It's quite clear he knows how it must feel to Merrill; hearing about parts of Mahariel's life, which must have come from the Warden's own lips while Anders was under her command. I give him a warning glance, and he schools his face to stillness, though resumes his tale. Merrill's gaze is slightly stricken, but fixes on him avidly as he continues.

"She found something she called a life-gem. Within it was the trapped soul of an elven mage who had hidden his life inside to escape some sort of danger. A war, I think. His body was probably destroyed, but his mind and memories survived through the years, mostly intact."

"I've never dreamed of such a magic," Merrill breathes.

"Nor had I," Anders replies. "But in exchange for the soul's release, he negotiated with Mahariel that she would take his memories inside her. It seems he was one of these Arcane Warriors, and was able to impart some of his knowledge and skills onto Mahariel, so that she could pass them on to other mages. Which she has," he adds, smiling in self-satisfaction.

"She taught this knowledge to you," I surmise.

He nods. "She did." His mouth twists wryly. "Though I confess, I did not really have the aptitude for it. I make a far better healer than a warrior-mage, I fear. But I learned what she had to give me from the memories the spirit imparted to her. There is not a great deal that was useful; not without proper instruction, or time to study and discover more of what has been forgotten. But I believe the spirit was able to pass on at the very least most of the basic training that it takes to ground one in the skills of an Arcane Warrior. How to cast spells and fight simultaneously, how to train the body to cope with the strain of utilising both physical and magical fighting techniques together, spells of ancient long-lost battle magic." He hefts the gleaming magical longsword in his hands. "And the knowledge of how to imbue weapons such as this with the magic necessary to make it a fitting weapon for an Arcane Warrior."

"I would like to learn this knowledge, if you would be so good as to teach me," Merrill says softly.

I see Anders frown, and speak quickly before he can refuse her. "I would like to learn too, Anders." I hold his eyes steadily. He has no right to keep this knowledge to himself, to let it die when there are students willing to learn. Nor has he the right to withhold the knowledge of these ancient elves from one of their own kind. "Mahariel may be the daughter of a Keeper, but she is no mage herself, as Merrill pointed out. The knowledge must be shared amongst those who can use it if it is to survive," I point out quietly, and intensify my gaze meaningfully. "If _mages_ are to survive."

"You're right," Anders concedes after a moment. "Whenever you are ready to learn, come to me. I'll teach you what I know. But I haven't worked on discovering anything more about it," he warns. "That, you will have to do on your own. You will undoubtedly be able to take this knowledge further than I. Warrior's blood seems to run in your family."

"And maybe other Dalish clans know something of it that the Sabrae have forgotten," Merrill puts in. "Or perhaps we can find some ancient scrolls on the subject to help us."

I grimace, thinking of Xenon and his ancient and magical wares. I'd sooner walk the long road and discover the limits of Arcane Warrior magic on my own than chance bargaining with that deceitful old cretin again. "Perhaps."

Merrill sees my look and takes my hand gently. "You're going to be very busy, Hawke," she says with an adorable little grin. "Learning swording from Aveline, and Arcane Warrior talents from Anders is going to take a great deal of time."

"Happily, those two subjects should complement one another rather well," Anders observes dryly.

He hands Vigilance carefully back to me, and I slide the blade into its sheath, taking care not to slice my hand open on its razor-edged blade. A sudden thought gives me pause, and I partially unsheathe the blade again, exposing some of the runes.

"One more thing," I begin, turning back to Anders so he can see the blade. "Back in the alley, after we found Emeric's body, the runes on the blade began to glow, right before we were attacked by the shades. Is that some sort of Arcane Warrior thing too?"

He smiles. "In a way. Mahariel had an idea for a spell of forewarning. The knowledge of the Arcane Warriors helped us create it, but we had to improvise a bit. The blade can... sense, for lack of a better word... when danger is near. The glow is meant as a warning." He looks at me, considering. "You were attacked by shades and demons, correct? Did the blade glow green?"

Merrill answers for me. "Yes, it did! A sort of pale, sick-looking sort of green."

Anders gives a knowing nod. "I thought as much. Well, that just goes to show it still works. The blade is meant to give the bearer warning of imminent danger, and should glow in different colours depending on the threat. Mahariel had us base the number and categories of warning spells on the threats she commonly faced as a Grey Warden. Vigilance glows green for when malignant spirits of the Fade such as demons are about; blue for darkspawn of any kind; red for more mundane, non-magical enemies who intend harm to the bearer. It also shines white in the presence of benevolent Fade spirits, to show that no harm is intended. The Arcane Warriors of old knew spells to make the sword glow, but they seem only to have used it to intimidate opponents. It was Mahariel's idea to associate different colours with different threats, and to trigger the blade to give warning in advance."

"That is quite useful, actually," I comment, gazing at the blade with new respect, both for the weapon and the Warden. What a remarkable woman, to come up with such a complex idea for a spell without any training in magical theory. Quite a shame she wasn't born with magic; what a mage she would have been.

Merrill leans forward suddenly, running her fingers along the elven words inscribed along the blade. "And this?" she asks Anders. "Did Mahariel help with these words, too?"

"She did," he replies. "She asked Velanna to help her with it too, since she wanted to make sure her elven was perfect."

"I had no idea she had such a grasp of written elvish," Merrill says, smiling. "All in the clan can speak the old tongue at least a little, but the writing of it is most often the province of Keepers and Firsts. She did ask me to teach her, but I didn't really think she learned all that much from me."

"Well, you must have taught her enough to impress Velanna, at any rate," Anders comments with a smile. "Which is bloody hard to do, so I suppose she had quite a good grasp of it." He watches as I sheathe the blade again, a small frown appearing on his brow. "So you say Xenon gave Vigilance to you?"

"Yes," I reply. "As recompense for what we suffered in his shop, apparently. And he gave Merrill a knife that once belonged to Mahariel as well. Did he send anything to you?"

"He did, as a matter of fact. A spell book" Anders informs me, glancing towards the wall, where I see a very large, very ancient and important-looking book lying quietly on his writing desk, minding its own business. "Nothing belonging to the Warden, and nothing quite so fancy as that sword of yours, but it should prove to be quite useful to the cause. Ancient spells of battlemagic, and the like. Powerful stuff." He gives the tome a fond smile before he looks back at me. "There's also instructions on how to create an enchantment to disguise entrances, such as the one protecting Xenon's shop. Could come in very handy for the Mage Underground. Seems we made out quite well from that little misadventure in the end, eh?"

I hesitate. Now that I know the weapon did indeed belong to the Warden, I'm suddenly finding myself somewhat conflicted about keeping it. Xenon certainly didn't have the right to confer ownership of the sword upon me, it being stolen goods and all. I glance down at the sword. "Do you think I should send it back to Vigil's Keep? I daresay Mahariel would be glad to have it back."

Anders shrugs. "Unless you're willing to take it back yourself to ensure that the Crows or anyone else won't steal it again before it gets there, I doubt there's much point, Hawke. It's too big of a prize."

"I think he's right, Hawke," Merrill says beside me, looking at me adoringly. "You'd be best to keep it. Mahariel wouldn't mind, I'm sure. If she knew you, she would think the same as me; that such a blade couldn't have come into more deserving hands."

Oh... well. I feel a blush coming on and cough awkwardly. "Well... I suppose I could hang on to it for her, then," I concede, patting the blade. "Perhaps I'll meet her someday, and I can offer it back."

"Til then, you'd best start learning how to use it," Merrill cautions me seriously. "Like Aveline said. You'll only make yourself a target carrying a sword around, and an easy one at that if you can't wield it."

"I'll speak to her about starting training soon, I promise," I assure her solemnly, and turn to Anders. "And I'd like to start learning what you know of the Arcane Warrior arts as soon as possible too."

He nods. "Very well. When would you like to start?"

I give him an eager grin. "Well, there's no time like the present! Now, what was that you said about storing mana inside the blade...?"

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><p>"Ohh..." I complain under my breath as we leave Anders' clinic, walking slowly through the gloomy streets towards the Lowtown lift. "I feel strange. Sort of... empty." I flex a hand the way I do when I call on my mana, unused to the absence of the faint tingling sensation that usually accompanies the movement. "I hardly have any mana left! This feels far too reminiscent of the effects of Xenon's damned potion."<p>

"Your mana will replenish itself soon, ma vhenan, don't worry," Merrill reassures me fondly, taking my arm and leaning her slight, warm body against my side. "Anders said it would, and he should know! And besides, your mana isn't gone, not really. It's just inside Vigilance now. You can draw it out if you need to. Would that make you feel better?"

I grimace. "It would, but after all the grueling work of figuring out how to get it in there, I think I'll just leave it where it is. For emergencies, you know. You're right anyway, my mana will probably be back to full strength by tomorrow morning."

Merrill smiles up at me. "It certainly will if you avoid strenuous activities and get a good night's rest."

I consider her words for a moment. "By tomorrow afternoon, then," I say, and grin as she scrunches her face up adorably in confusion. "After all, we weren't planning on doing all that much _resting _tonight, were we?"

Her expression clears, and she laughs, smiling in agreement. "No, we weren't. And I can think of at least one strenuous activity I wouldn't mind trying..."

We walk arm in arm for a while in silence, thinking about just what it is we're going to do later tonight. I can tell that Merrill's thoughts are in line with mine from the way she so desperately tries to hold back her giggles every time she steals a glance at me. A cheeky grin appears on her face and she looks up.

"You know, I wish my house was in Darktown," she says offhandedly.

I raise my eyebrows incredulously. Surely the Alienage, poor as it is, is at least preferable to the squalor of the Undercity. "Really? Why ever would you wish that?"

Her smile widens and she leans up towards my ear as we walk, managing very impressively not to trip over her own feet. "Because if my house was down here, we'd be home by now," she whispers, and kisses me softly on the cheek as I laugh.

We turn a corner into a deserted street and I take a moment to attach Vigilance's sheath to my belt, tired of carrying it in the crook of my arm. I had hoped to avoid actually wearing the weapon until I'm better trained, but the weight of the thing is starting to tire me. Besides, I've still got my staff at my back if anyone tries to attack us, which hopefully will not happen between here and the Alienage, so chances are good I won't actually have to use it unless I need the mana inside it.

I look up to find Merrill gazing wistfully at the sword now hanging at my side. I know what brings that look into her eyes now. "Thinking of Mahariel?" I ask gently.

Merrill smiles at me, and nods. "I hope you get the chance to meet her someday, Hawke. You'd really like her, I know you would."

"I'd like to meet her too," I reply. "Ad when I do, I'll be sure to offer her back her magnificent sword."

"She'll probably refuse to take it from you, if I know her at all," Merrill smiles. "She'd say that it found a master who could really use it properly."

"As the magical weapon she designed it to be?" I run my fingers over the hilt, amazed once again at the power I can feel inside it. "Mahariel must be a very clever woman, to help devise a magical weapon of such power and ability without even being a mage herself." I give Merrill a smile, taking her hand and squeezing gently. "If she had been born with the gift, she would have been exceptional."

"I bet she would have. Her father was by all accounts a very powerful mage," Merrill agrees. "Mahariel used to tell me she wished she was a mage, when we were little. It was something Mahariel always felt very badly about, even though she had no control over it. It made it all the more difficult for her when none of the other children of her age showed signs of magic, and I had to be brought in from another clan to be Marethari's First."

I nod in acknowledgement of her words, though my thoughts are a little distracted by the difference between Dalish perceptions of magic and human ones. How strange to think of a child wishing so fervently to have magic! To imagine a family where the dearest wish of a parent is that their child might be mage-born. My father was a good man, a good mage, and he taught me so gently and earnestly that my magic was a gift. He taught me how to harness my abilities and use them for good, that no-one born to magic is inherently bad, no matter what the Chantry might say, and that I should never let anyone convince me otherwise.

But...

I saw how hard he took it when he discovered I had inherited his magic, and how it made him sad again when Bethany's magic surfaced too. Once, I even heard him telling Mother how much he wished we had taken after her, and not him, that our lives would be so much easier if we weren't mage-born. Young as I was then, I felt it as a blow to my very core. To me it was as if he had said he was disappointed in us for being mages, something beyond our control. For being like him. I understand much better all that he meant by that now, but then it was very hard to hear from him. It's hard to imagine growing up in a culture like the Dalish, where parents are delighted to discover that their children possess magical abilities, where mages are held in high esteem and looked upon as leaders, where children dream of revealing hidden magics within themselves, and not as nightmares... if only there were a place like that in the world for human mages to be openly free. Other than Tevinter, of course. As much as I despise having to hide who I am for the safety of myself and my family, I would hate living in Tevinter far more, even were I the most powerful magister of all of them. I could never live in a place where slavery is legal, let alone so heavily practiced. The idea of owning another sentient being is utterly revolting. I don't understand how anyone could ever condone it.

"She told me she felt so guilty that I had to leave my family, my clan, all that I knew," Merrill continues, oblivious to my wandering mind, a sad little frown line appearing between her brows. "All because she wasn't lucky enough inherit her father's gift-"

Merrill's words are cut off by a great crashing and splintering as the ground beneath her feet collapses, and her hand is wrenched from mine as she disappears into a gaping hole with little cry, quickly obscured by a billowing cloud of dust and dirt.

I blink in shock, standing stock still at the edge of the yawning gap at my feet for a moment as my mind tries to grapple with what just happened, then my heart twists within me and I call her name, frantically trying to peer down into the darkness beneath the flurries of dirt in the air. "Merrill!"

Silence.

I glance furtively about me, and mercifully seeing no-one within the immediate vicinity, I cast a small ball of magelight down into the gloom, still trying to see as the dust settles. "Merrill?"

A few rocks clatter below, and at last I hear a small, bewildered voice echoing out of the gloom below where I stand on the lip of the pit.

"_Oww_..."

"Merrill?" I peer down into the hole, which is no bigger than a trap door but clearly deep, at last making out a small dusty figure some metres below me, sitting up in a pile of dirt and loose debris. She appears to be rubbing her head. "Merrill!"

The figure turns and looks up at me, bright eyes blinking slowly in the dark. "Ma vhenan?"

I sigh with relief, smiling down at her. "Are you alright? What happened?"

She appears to consider my words for a moment. "I fell down a hole..." she answers eventually, her voice filled with surprise.

"You did," I agree, biting back a highly inappropriate grin. "I saw the whole thing."

She drops her hand and smiles sheepishly up at me. "No pun intended, Hawke?"

That surprises a laugh out of me. "No, actually. Do you really think I would joke about something like this?"

Merrill raises her eyebrows at me, and I chuckle again. "Fair point. Can you get out of there?"

Merrill glances around, igniting her own ball of magelight to add to mine. "I don't know," she answers thoughtfully after a moment. "You might need to get me a rope or something... ooh... oh, Hawke, this place is fascinating!"

"How do you mean?"

"I think... I think this used to be a part of old Kirkwall. From the time of the Tevinter Imperium! It looks sort of like an old temple down here, there's marble columns and mosaics on the floor, and carvings on the walls..." She looks up at me. "Hawke, can we go exploring? Please?"

I sigh to myself, and consider. I don't much like the idea of leaving her here alone, even just to go get a rope, or a ladder, or whatever I can scrounge up. If she's fallen into an old building, maybe we can find an entrance or a system of tunnels to lead us out. Of course, that will mean I'll have to go down there too, and then of course if we can't get out we'll both be trapped... and...

Oh, why not? I'd rather be trapped down in the hole with Merrill than safe up here, alone. Any day. And I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to her while I was off looking for a bit of rope.

"Alright, back away a bit, love," I call to her. "I'm coming down."

Green eyes blink up at me seriously. "Shall I catch you?"

I laugh. "Best not try. I'd rather not crush you today." I hear the scuff of bare feet on stone as she moves to obey me, and take a deep breath. "Here goes nothing..."

I ready myself and jump into the darkness. At the last moment before I hit the ground, I cast a flow of air directly beneath me, slowing my fall and allowing me to land lightly on the balls of my feet instead of the jarring impact I could otherwise expect.

"Oh, that was clever!" Merrill's awed voice issues from the shadows to my left. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"You didn't really have enough time to think about anything, my love," I remind her gently, reaching for her hand as she moves towards me into the luminous glow cast by my magelight. As soon as her skin touches mine, I send a little of my remaining mana through her body, swiftly examining her for any damage and sighing with relief at finding none, beyond a bit of minor bruising. The only visible evidence of her fall is a bump on her head. Maker, she must have her gods' own luck. I use a touch of mana to heal the bruising inside her so it doesn't become anything more dangerous, and smile at her when she thanks me.

"Adventure awaits," I tell her, gesturing to the abandoned passageways before us, just itching to be explored. "Shall we?"

The empty halls stretch out before and above us, remarkably free of rot and damp for all they are so far underground, and so ancient. The towering columns and intricate decorative carvings and scrollwork are indeed indicative of Tevinter architecture. Unlike the sparse cells and rough rooms below the Antiquarian's shop, these structures are obviously meant to be works of art as much as buildings. A temple, Merrill suggested. She may well be right.

But dedicated to what?

* * *

><p>Our exploration goes uninterrupted as we continue on, wandering cautiously through the passageways. There's not a soul in sight down here, not so much as a spider. Not even of the regularly sized variety. I am surprised at first that such an extensive network of rooms and passages has gone unclaimed here in Darktown, where no empty dwelling space stays empty for long. But as we move deeper in, I begin to understand why no one has set up residence in here, if anyone has even found the place at all. There is... a scent here. One of dark magic, of... blood. I feel it in my mana, but also as a physical reaction, some inexplicable humming current of power raising the hairs on my nape. I'd wager anyone looking to live or loot in here has felt it too, mage or no, and has instinctively kept away. Of course we would be the ones to ignore that very helpful survival instinct and forge ahead into a place that in all likelihood is going to reveal itself to be the ancient prison of some terrible demon, or an ancient temple devoted to the sacrifice of victims in the use of blood magic. Well, we've no choice now. We've got to find a way out of here, or go back and yell through the hole Merrill fell through until one of Darktown's more curious citizens comes to help us. Probably for a price.<p>

"Hawke?" Merrill's voice echoes in trembling waves from the vaulted ceiling, unseen in the darkness overhead. "Maybe this wasn't the best idea..."

I am about to agree when the darkness suddenly vanishes in a rush of warm red light, torches mounted in ancient wall brackets flaring into flames. I start and instinctively pull Merrill with me into the middle of the hallway we just entered. Back-to-back we wait, staring down both ends of the corridor, but when nothing more happens we relax.

"Why did that happen?" Merrill wonders. "Some sort of ancient Tevinter spell, perhaps?" I feel her open her magical senses, examining the room for enchantment. She nods, eyes alight with power. "Cast so that the torches light up whenever there are people in the halls. Did you feel anything trigger when we came in here?"

"No," I answer, examining the merrily burning torches, "but that is a impressive spell. These torches are fresh, though. Someone has been making use of these passages." I glance at Merrill meaningfully. "Not entirely abandoned, then."

"Well, whoever is - or was - coming down here must be a mage, to be maintaining the torch spell safely," Merrill muses. She sniffs the fetid air and shivers. "I bet they're responsible for the magical residue in the air, too." She glances at me, and away. "It's... blood magic. You can probably feel that, I suppose. But there's more than just traces of blood magic. Whoever was down here must have been summoning demons too. I can sense traces of them, though I can't tell if they're still about."

Yelling through the hole for help is looking more and more appealing. I touch Merrill's arm gently. "Do you want to continue? We could go back and call for help."

Merrill makes a face. "I suppose we should. But I don't really like the idea of that. We'd look so foolish."

"I'd rather look foolish than risk facing an unknown number of demons," I say. "Especially when my mana is somewhat depleted. Whoever comes to find us can expect a nice shiny reward for their service. I'm sure we can live down the embarrassment, as long as they keep their mouths shut."

Merrill chews her lip for a moment. "What if Anders comes?"

Well, that decides it. "Demons it is, then."

Merrill and I share a wry smile and begin cautiously making out way down the now well-lit passage. "If people have been making use of this corridor, it stands to reason they must have a means of ingress somewhere close by. I'm hoping our way out is somewhere through here," I say quietly as we approach a stone door flanked by more flaring torches. "Probably concealed somehow. Let's keep our eyes peeled for trapdoors and the like."

Merrill shudders. "I've always hated that saying. Creators, the images it puts in my head. Peeled eyes... ew!"

The door proves to be stubbornly resistant to all our efforts to move it. "Mythal!" Merrill gasps, wiping droplets of sweat off her flushed forehead. "It hasn't shifted an inch! It should just open, shouldn't it? It doesn't even have a lock!"

"Perhaps not the ordinary kind..." I muse, touching my mana and refocusing it on the door. There, where the handle would be on a normal door. A small spell, created by...

Blood magic. Of course.

"Could we just... blast it open?" Merrill muses behind me, as yet unaware of my discovery. "Although, we might risk bringing the whole Undercity down on top of us if we did, so maybe not..."

"It's got a magical lock," I interrupt gently. "Made with blood magic, I think."

"Oh." Merrill blinks, examining the spell herself. "Oh, yes. Um... I can open it, I think, but I'm not sure if..." She glances at me, and hesitates, unsure.

"Merrill, as long as it doesn't involve actually summoning demons, I really don't mind if you use blood magic to open the door," I assure her, and then frown as she unsheathes her belt knife. "And as long as it doesn't involve slicing your wrists to ribbons. I can't promise my usual quality of healing magic at the moment with my mana reserves so low."

"I only need a little," Merrill replies absently. "Besides, I can probably heal it myself now." She gives me a cheeky grin and sticks the ball of her thumb with the point of the blade. A bright red drop of crimson wells up immediately, and Merrill presses it against the door, right on top of the spell with a whispered word. The door slides into the wall with the grinding murmur of stone against stone, and again the darkness before us is banished as more torches light up around the walls of a large tomb-like chamber. Merrill sticks her thumb in her mouth for a moment, then pulls it out and concentrates on it, healing it admirably well. I give her a smile of approval and then lead the way into the chamber.

The room is dusty and covered in cobwebs, which would suggest that it hasn't been used in a long time, if it weren't for the footprints littering the dirty floor, and the distinct lack of stuffiness in the room. The air is remarkably fresh in here, especially for an underground ruin. Hopefully that means our way out is close. The existence of this room and it's torches and blood magic spells makes for an interesting little mystery, though.

"I more than half expected to be attacked by now," Merrill comments, sounding somewhat wistful.

"Disappointed?" I ask playfully as I scan the chamber for exits.

My little elf chuckles. "Well, maybe a little," she replies. "It usually makes things more exciting, don't you think?"

I give a small laugh at her interesting perspective, and move to the other side of the room where I can see a door similar to the one we entered by, probably locked in the same manner. A way out of these ruins, hopefully, if the track of footprints on the dusty floor leading to and from the door is any indication.

"Ma vhenan, look here," Merrill says, calling my attention to a somewhat out-of-place plinth by the far wall. Moving over to join her, I raise an eyebrow at the sight of a large book resting open on the shelf. A very new looking book at that. A recent addition to this ancient tomb, obviously.

"Can you sense the power in it?" Merrill asks, peering intently at the tome. "I can feel... old magic. But it's so new! How can that be?"

"It's unusual..." I agree. "As is this whole thing."

I draw Vigilance a few inches out of its sheath and examine the blade for a moment. No glowing. No demons nearby then, or at least not within Vigilance's range. Good. Surprising, but good. Cautiously, I open the cover of the book, and when no traps are triggered, read the handwritten note on the inside of the cover.

_Well done, my brother or sister of The Path, for if you are the one to find this tome, then you have found the other Books of Blood and passed my tests to prove yourself worthy of the knowledge contained within. _

_If I did not lead you to this, my ultimate and faithful replication of the Fell Grimoire, then my enemies have destroyed me. But if you, worthy initiate, can master the knowledge in this tome, I have not failed. You have followed my hints and overcome the guardians I set to separate the weak from the strong. Now, armed with the knowledge and secrets of blood magic, that great and primordial power, that you will learn from these ancient writings from the greatest of the Tevinter mages of old, our cause will prevail._

_Mages were never meant to walk among mortal men, to languish under the crushing heels of the Templars. We are the masters of the elements. We transcend the physical plane and call forth the very powers of the spirits themselves. We are not meant to be subjugated, but to command. There are secrets undreamed of deep in the Fade. What secrets the Tevinters learned from the spirits are contained within these pages. Therein lies our destiny... our salvation._

_May you lead our brethren on the Path to victory, worthy one._

_Tarohne._

Ah. I feel my mouth twist in distaste, my mind turning back years as I step back to let Merrill read the note. Tarohne. The mad blood mage who was turning templar recruits into abominations to sow chaos and disorder within the templar ranks, intending to somehow resurrect the Tevinter Imperium into the bargain. She didn't get very far, thanks to us, but she could have done a lot more damage if we hadn't stopped her. I remember feeling somewhat conflicted about it at the time, not being altogether too fond of the Templar order myself, but I disagreed strongly with Tarohne's methods. Using blood magic and abominations to attack the Templars, who oppress us because they fear that all mages will succumb to blood magic, is not the way to prove them wrong. And Tarohne's disciple, Idunna, using blood magic try to make me slit my own throat did not earn Tarohne and her group any points in their favour.

"Tarohne..." Merrill turns the name over slowly on her tongue. "That's a familiar name."

"She was the one behind those templar recruits being kidnapped and turned into abominations a few years ago," I remind her. "Remember Keran?"

"Oh, yes," Merrill laughs. "He seemed sweet enough, for a templar. A bit of a bumbler, but sweet. And he still hasn't told anyone about us being mages, or anything. At least, I suppose he hasn't, since we haven't been arrested."

I flip through a few pages of the Fell Grimoire copy. Neat printing, detailed - if somewhat graphic - illustrations. This is fairly decent work. "So, Tarohne actually had a Fell Grimoire. She's made quite a nice copy of it, for a madwoman. Especially compared to her other books."

I pause, and curse mentally as I realise what I said. Merrill frowns, gazing at me in confusion. "Her other books? You've seen some of her... what did she call them, "Books of Blood"?"

I give an inaudible sigh. "I have. I found all of them, actually. Do you remember, back when we were trying to find the missing recruits, we visited the Blooming Rose to see the prostitute who had... serviced them.. prior to their disappearance? The one who tried to turn her blood magic on us?"

Merrill's eyes narrow a little, and she smiles grimly. "Oh yes, I remember her. Idunna, wasn't it? The apostate prostitute. What did Isabela call her? Apostitute?"

I snort a laugh despite myself and grin at her. "Hah! So she did. Anyway, a while ago she sent me a letter, detailing where I could find Tarohne's writings and beseeching me to destroy them for her to protect anyone who might stumble upon them. Which we did."

"I don't remember that," Merrill says slowly. "When...?"

I shift uncomfortably. "We weren't... speaking, at the time."

Merrill's eyes widen, and she looks at her feet. "Oh. When we were fighting... about the mirror."

I nod, rubbing at my neck. I detest thinking about those horrible days. "I don't think they would have been much use to you," I tell her. "Tarohne was a mad bitch. Her writings were mainly comprised of incoherent ramblings about evil templars and injustice. Anders might have quite enjoyed them, but I don't think you would have found anything in them that would help with your mirror." I close the book and put my hand on the cover. "This book, however, might actually be of use."

Merrill glances at me in surprise. "You want me to take it?"

I give her a fond smile, nodding and trying to ignore the nagging doubt plaguing the back of my mind that this may not be a brilliant idea for several reasons. "Love them or loathe them, the Tevinters had considerable knowledge on the study of blood magic. Doubtless they know of more uses it can be put to other than calling demons and turning people into abominations. The magisters who wrote this were masters of blood magic, men and women who approached the subject like any other class of magic to be studied. Their knowledge may be less corrupted by time and lesser minds, assuming Tarohne's copy is a true one. Perhaps you can learn something more helpful from this book." _Without relying on that demon again._

Merrill gazes at me for a long moment, eyes glinting in the torchlight, and then she steps forward and hugs me hard. "Thank you, ma vhenan," she whispers, holding me tightly. "That means a lot to me, for lots of reasons." She pulls back a little to look into my eyes, a loving smile on her face. "I haven't felt that odd presence in the mirror since I stopped using blood magic on it. but I still won't use blood magic on the mirror while we're looking for another way to fix it. But I'll take the book just in case, and so no one else stumbles across it down here."

"Better that then have it fall into the wrong hands," I agree, kissing her forehead softly. "There's no blood mage I'd trust with this knowledge more than you."

"I suppose that's true enough," Merrill laughs, and moves to take the book.

The moment she lifts it, all the torches in the room snuff out, burying us in blackness. I hear Merrill drop the book back onto the podium and feel her press her back to mine. We wait, straining our eyes for threats in the darkness. Silence reigns for an endless moment...

... and then ungodly howls tear the darkness on all sides as the torch flames reappear, born anew into fiery rage demons, their snarling, formless faces contorted in mindless fury as they come for us. Tarohne's bloody tests. Maker's blood, I should have expected this!

I call my mana to my fingertips, alarmed at how sluggishly my power responds before remembering most of it is resting uselessly in the sword at my waist, and cast a spray of deep freezing ice at the nearest demon. It howls, recoiling in pain as the ice devours it and I follow with a bolt of lightning, splintering it into pieces.

A swift glance over my shoulder gives me a stunning glimpse of Merrill's power as she smothers two blazing demons at once, covering them in earth and stone and turning to freeze a third as they fizzle out of existence. _That gives me an idea..._ I grin as I turn and cast an arcane shield around another demon before it takes my head off with its flaming claws. It batters uselessly at the walls of its prison for a moment before I suck all the air out from within, depriving it of the means to burn and extinguishing it like a snuffed out candle.

The last demon falls to Merrill's magic, and the torches flicker back to life. I breathe heavily, feeling more drained than ever. Must have even less reserves of mana than I thought...

"The blood feeds..." A harsh, chilling whisper echoes about the chamber as Merrill and I look around in vain for the source. "The blood nourishes..."

"Hawke..." Merrill murmurs nervously, and I give her a grim smile, full of confidence I am far from feeling.

The voice grows louder, closer. "In blood, the call is heard." A desire demon appears in a flare of dark fire, purple eyes gleaming with ancient malice. "In blood, the deal is made!" The demon grins, revealing monstrous pointed teeth. "The great Xebenkeck shall feast on blood!"

Well, this just about makes my day.

Xebenkeck blasts us with a wave of ice. I block it with an arcane shield and strike back with a spirit bolt, which hits the demon square in its bare chest, knocking it back several feet. Before it can recover, Merrill summons lightning and casts it towards the demon, which screams as the white hot energy crackles over its body.

The scream grows louder and louder as the demon's face contorts, and it twists suddenly to face us, still screaming, the volume rising higher and higher, slamming into us in an almost physical blow that blows Merrill off her feet and sends me to my knees, clutching my temples as sharp pain shoots through my head like iron spikes. The hurt recedes, and I look frantically for Merrill. My heart leaps into my throat as I see her slumped against the far wall, the demon approaching her with raised claws and a feral grin.

"Merrill!"

I send a bolt of lightning toward the demon, but my mana is now too weak for battle spells, and the demon brushes off the shock almost without noticing as it reaches for the crumpled elf on the ground. "_Merrill!_"

I do the only thing I can think of and cast all my remaining mana at Merrill, healing her, filling her with energy and all the power I can muster. I hear her gasp from across the room, watch her scramble to her feet, eyes ablaze with power and rage as she faces the approaching demon, surprising the creature with a blast of fire straight into its snarling face just as it opens its mouth to scream. Xebenkeck's voice chokes off in a gurgle as the fire sears down its throat, and Merrill strikes again and again with spirit bolts, sending the demon sprawling in an ungraceful heap. She stands over it as it writhes on the ground, clutching at its throat, slowly raises her arms, and then brings down a fierce storm of lightning, channelling it into the demon's body, striking again and again until the remains of the creature collapse into wisps of darkness and vanish.

I climb slowly to my feet as Merrill turns towards me, breathing heavily.

"Hawke? Are you alright?" she asks, concern in her eyes.

"I'm fine," I assure her, feeling a mad grin spreading over my features. "Do you know what you just did? You just destroyed one of the oldest demons in existence!"

Merrill gives me a half smile. "Really?" She glances at the spot on the floor where Xebenkeck writhed out of existence. "I guess it was having an off day, then. Besides, you gave me your mana."

I laugh, and pull her into a hug. "I only healed you. Don't put yourself down. That was amazing, Merrill!"

Her arms tighten about me, and I can almost feel the heat of her blushing cheeks against mine. "Oh, well, you know..." she mumbles, a pleased smile in her voice. "Thank you, ma vhenan."

I match her smile as I cup her cheek gently. "Thank _you_, emma sa'lath." I lean in for a kiss, enjoying the moment as she trembles at my touch, the sensation sending shivers up and down my own spine.

"Let's get out of here," I suggest breathlessly to Merrill once we come back to ourselves, looking over her shoulder to the ancient door across the room, covered in dust and shadow. "See where that takes us. But first, you'd better grab that." I point to the book still sitting quietly on the podium. "It was hard won."

Merrill nods, a trifle dazedly, and follows me over to the door after she collects her prize. I try the handle, and as expected since rarely is anything ever easy for us, find it locked. Sighing, I bend down to examine the rusting, ancient lock. The wood around it is warped and decaying... and it looks like the door would swing outward on its hinges...

"Locked, is it?" Merrill comments wryly. "Of course it is."

"It isn't protected by blood magic, though," I note with some scorn. "Fairly short sighted of them to protect only one entrance."

Merrill steps closer, placing the hand not clutching her new book against the door. "Ah..." she says after a moment. "This entrance was bound by the same spell on the other entrance. When we broke that enchantment, the twinned spell on this door was removed too. Although, it is still locked. And quite rusty. I doubt if they used this door much, if at all." She sighs, moving back. "If only Isabela or Varric were here. They'd have it open in a breath."

I straighten, and take a pace backwards. "Oh, I think I can get it open," I assure her, grinning. "Stay back..."

I turn on my heel and lash out with one foot, delivering a sharp, precise kick to the door with all the strength I can muster. The weak wood around the lock splinters and shatters, slamming the door open with a resounding bang and revealing the darkened corridor beyond.

I hear a sharp intake of breath behind me and turn to meet Merrill's appreciative gaze. A brilliant smile lights up her fine features. "I love it when you do that," she breathes, hugging the book to her chest.

My grin widens at the love and admiration I see in her face. "I'll open all doors this way from now on, if it pleases you," I inform her solemnly, and she giggles, shaking her head at me.

"I can only imagine what Leandra would have to say if you kicked the front door down every time you came home," she laughs, and waggles a finger, doing a fair imitation of Mother. "_'Young lady,_ civilised_ people open doors with their fingers, not their feet! And for that matter, _civilised_ people keep their doors in working order. With you around, we may as well go back to using flaps made of dead animal skins and have done with it!_' Oh, she'd scold you something fierce!"

"I'd just tell her it's all in the name of love," I grin. "And if that didn't work, I'd tell her I'm contributing to a healthy economy by creating jobs for skilled craftsmen, keeping carpenters and locksmiths in business all over Kirkwall."

Merrill giggles harder, and I smile as I hold out my hand to her, gesturing with exaggerated gallantry to the musty corridor that will lead us out of here. I hope. "Are you coming, emma sa'lath?"

Small fingers grasp mine as magnificent emerald eyes dazzle me with their radiance, bathing me in warmth and love.

"I go where you go, ma vhenan."

* * *

><p><em>See what I mean? Not exactly a cliffhanger, but not a full bodied chapter. But rest assured, the next bit will come soon.<em>

_To be continued!_


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

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><p><strong><em>Author's Note<em>**

_Hi! So here the next part finally. Hopefully mistake-and-plot-hole-free. I've partly planned the next chapter and written some of it, but with Dragon Age Inquisition coming out in, what, about two weeks?... TWO WEEKS!... I'm most certainly going to be spending most of my free time virtually wandering in Thedas for a while. It will consume me. My girlfriend has been warned that I will be mostly mentally absent and absorbed in the Dragon Age game world for at least a week after it comes out, probably longer. I have also explained that it is very likely that she will hear me periodically squeeing and bursting out with exclamations such as "VARRIC!" and "MORRIGAN! IS THAT MORRIGAN? I THINK IT"S MORRIGAN!" and "OH MY GOD DRAGON!" and "THIS IS SO FREAKING AWESOME!" Hopefully I'm not building up my expectations of this game too much in my head. I'm sure it will be awesome. Needless to say, I'm excited. Are you excited? I sure am! I know I said so already, but I'm really excited._

_DRAGON AGE INQUISITION! EXCITEMENT!_

__Here's the chapter. Read on!__

* * *

><p>xxx M xxx<p>

* * *

><p>"Well, that wasn't so bad," I say in as bright a tone as I can muster, leaning on Hawke as we reach the top of the long stairwell leading from the docks into Lowtown, the blood magic tome tucked safely under one arm. I feel more than hear Hawke's low chuckle, and blink up at her. "Well, it wasn't! Not really." I pause. "Not in the grand scheme of things, anyway."<p>

Hawke glances at me with a smile before finishing the last bite of the hot meat roll bought from a vendor in the harbour. Not the best dinner, but filling enough. I finished mine before we even left the docks. "It could have been worse, I suppose," she comments mildly after swallowing her mouthful.

"Much worse!" I agree, holding up fingers on my free hand as I make my list. "We didn't get too badly hurt, after all. We didn't lose anything. We managed to kill that demon. We didn't put anyone else in danger and nobody else knows about me falling into that hole." I glance up at the clear night sky above us, stars passing slowly overhead as we walk a path through Lowtown to the Alienage. "And it isn't raining. I'd hate to get this book wet after all we went through to get it."

By the time we managed to make it back to the surface, it was already full dark. The door Hawke kicked down - Creators, it gives me shivers every time I picture that - lead us into the twisting mazes of old sewer tunnels and abandoned mine shafts beneath the docks, and from there, it wasn't too hard for us to navigate our way into more familiar territory. Or, for Hawke to navigate our way, I should say. I may not get lost going around Kirkwall by myself anymore... well, not as much, anyway... but the Undercity is entirely different. I was as useful as a glass hammer in finding our way out of there. But at least we're back up in the sort-of fresh air now, and heading to my house in the Alienage to spend the night. And to clean up, and take care of our various scrapes and bruises. Hawke doesn't think they're too bad; nothing worth going to see Anders for, nor even enough to justify taking out some of the mana from her sword. I don't think I'd let her try, anyway, she's too exhausted and aching from working on Arcane Warrior magic with Anders and fighting those rage demons and everything, and I'm tired and sore from battling Xebenkeck. And falling down that big hole.

"True. Still, I don't think I'll be following you down any more holes any time soon," Hawke grins as she reads my mind, hugging me closer. "Not just to go exploring, anyway. Only if you're really in trouble. And preferably not when I'm already tired, not to mention low on mana. I should be able to heal us up after a good night's rest, but..." She stretches a little, making a small noise of relief as joints pop. "Maker's breath, I'm drained. I doubt if I could so much as light a candle right now. I'm glad we're almost-"

"Well, now..."

Hawke's whole body seizes up at the sound of the gravelly voice floating out from the dark shadows to our left. A grizzled, grey haired human man steps into the flickering light from the wall-lamps.

"If it ain't my favourite little mage girl." He grins horribly at us, his gaze roving up and down.

Hawke stares at him, rooted to the spot.

"Hawke?" I ask, peering up at her uncertainly. She doesn't speak, shocked eyes locked on the leather-clad man slowly approaching us. I glance down at the sword at her side, only now noticing the faint red glow flickering on the small length of blade not quite covered by the sheath.

_Oh, no..._

"Heard about your little brother," the man drawls, grinning wider, showing blackened teeth in the back of his mouth, and walks towards Hawke slowly, carefully, danger in his every inch of his bearing. He stops a few paces away from us and looks Hawke up and down. "Such a shame. I see you're doing well for yourself, though; got yourself the whole noble deal. An old name, a Hightown mansion, and a little elven bedwarmer to boot." His eyes flick to me, and the tension in Hawke's body increases. Still she remains silent.

"Hawke?" I ask again, softly. "Who is he? Do you know him?" She still doesn't answer me, her eyes never leaving him. She seems so... afraid. "Who are you?" I challenge him, narrowing my eyes in anger. "Stay away from us!"

The man continues, ignoring me. "You and her have put the high and mighty nobility into quite an uproar, you know. Between you and me, I've even had a couple trying to engage my services to get rid of one or both of you and stop you sullying the pristine streets of Hightown. Not that I've taken any of their contracts, of course. For old times' sake, you understand... not yet, anyway." His eyes flick to me, lingering. "This is your whore, then?"

At this Hawke reacts at last, hissing a sharp breath in through her teeth, stepping toward him, her hands balling into fists, but he isn't done. He looks over at me again, and involuntarily I shrink back a little. "Mm. Nice. Very nice. Terrible shame she's being wasted on you, though. How much for an hour or two with your pretty little knife-ear harlot, then? Looks like she'd be a sweet ride."

_Pretty little knife-ear..._ The memory tears through my mind, and I freeze in place a moment, old terrors reawakening. I push the crippling memories and fears down hard.

"Meeran," Hawke growls and bristles in fury, moving towards him, speaking at last. "You touch her, and I'll kill you," she says simply, her voice low and heavy with the threat.

But a gang of humans, mercenaries by the look of them, step out of the shadows on all sides of us, closing us in a circle. Their leather armour shimmers oddly in the moonlight...

I gasp as they step closer, as a chilling sensation washes over me, a draining coldness, and I realise the reason for their odd appearance.

"Magebane!" I whisper urgently to Hawke. "They've covered themselves in it!"

Hawke's eyes widen, and I can see her begin to feel it too, drained already though she is. The man - their leader I suppose - gives an awful chuckle of pleasure as he watches us.

"Aye, magebane," he grins smugly. "Coated our weapons and armour all over with it for this little encounter. You remember this feeling o'course, eh, little mage? Though I never used this much on you before, did I? I had to use it on her a fair bit, back when she worked for me," he adds, apparently addressing me. "Had to keep control of her somehow when she wasn't on a job. Especially when it came to doing things that she..." He turns his gaze back to Hawke, and grins slowly at her flinch, a terrible look in his eyes. "Wasn't entirely willing to do."

A thrill of cold horror uncoils deep within me as my mind turns over the possible meaning of those words. Hawke's breathing is fast and shallow, her fingers trembling as she reaches for the blade at her hip.

"Walk away, Meeran," Hawke warns. "You can cripple my magic, but you'll have to cross my blade to get any closer."

She steps back protectively in front of me, drawing Vigilance in one smooth motion. The warning runes blaze red with searing light as Meeran raises a hand, signalling more magebane-cloaked mercenaries to slip from the shadows, surrounding us completely, draining us. Barely, I can feel Hawke trying to draw mana from her blade, but the magebane dulls the stored power before she can use it. The mercenaries close in. Hawke turns her head and follows them with her blade but she can't keep them all in sight, and I cry out in remembered fear as I feel rough hands take hold of me from behind, jerking me away from Hawke and tight against his body before my sore and tired limbs can react, and I am caught, too late to fight back. A knife is pressed to my throat as Hawke watches in frozen horror, unable to make a move for fear of provoking my captor. Mythal save us, how can we win this one? Every part of me screams in dismay at the look in Hawke's eyes, her fear and desperation at seeing me held hostage against her, surrounded, exhausted and alone, with every passing second draining more of our mana away. Soon we will be completely helpless to whatever foul purpose these men have in mind.

_Blessed Creators, what do I do?_

"Nice sword, mage girl," Meeran sneers at Hawke, in no doubt of his dominance. "I'll bet my left ball you can't use it, though, so you'd better drop it before I have my man slit your little whore's throat."

"Slit her throat, and I'll use my blade to take your left ball and make you choke on it before I kill every last one of you thrice-damned goat-begotten bastards," Hawke retorts, her fiery eyes boring into his in fury. "Both balls if you call her a whore again."

Meeran throws his head back and laughs. "Ah, that's my girl. Always enjoyed your inventive insults. Far more imagination than your little dead brother on that account."

Hawke breathes fast, visibly trying hard to keep herself under control. "Tell your lackey to let her go, Meeran."

He grins as he slowly shakes his head at her, relaxed and confident. "I have a proposition, little mage. I lost a lot of men after you walked. Turns out most of them were shit at defending themselves without your spell work protecting their stupid hides. Not to mention you were a damn sight easier on the eyes than any of those ugly bastards. A damn sight easier." Meeran looks her up and down slowly. "Business has taken a sharp downturn, you might say, ever since you cut ties. A lot of clients have stopped requiring the Red Iron's swords and services. And the Harimann family's been throwing a lot of coin around, trying to find out who came after their lord, even after three years. It's made business... hard to come by." His mouth twists, eyes narrowing dangerously at her for a moment. "Which wouldn't have been a problem for me at all if you had just finished the job and knocked the old man off when I told you to. So the way I figure it, you owe me, mage girl. You're going to work for me again and maybe they'll see reason to come back, see? You'll do what I say, or you'll regret it." His flinty eyes harden further. "Drop that blade!"

"Let Merrill go!" Hawke shouts, anger and fear for me colouring her tone.

"That the little whore's name?" Meeran smirks at me, rolling my name around his filthy mouth. "Merrill. Mmm... pretty."

Hawke snarls with rage. "Release her!"

"Oh, not just yet, little mage," Meeran laughs. "I've got your attention now, haven't I? You are going to work for me again, noble or not. Don't forget, I know your little secret." He begins to pace a slow circle about her, a mountain lion circling its downed but still-kicking prey. "And now, so do all of my men, here. You don't agree to work for me, I go straight to the Templars. You try to take me down, I send one of my men instead. Either way, you'll be in their cold, steel gauntlets before morning." He pauses, leering at her. "Maybe you should think about that for a moment. Consider whose touch you would prefer; the Templars', or mine?"

"As you've said, I've done well for myself," Hawke counters, tightening her grip on her sword. "I'm the descendant of a noble house, and have coin enough to keep the Templars off my back, regarding my 'little secret'." The man holding me holds me tightly against him with his knife-wielding hand, running his other hand over my body and forcing an involuntary whimper from my throat. Hawke ignores Meeran abruptly and turns her livid gaze on my captor. "This will be your only warning. Take your hands off her. Let. Her. _G_o_!_"she hisses, fury infusing her every word. "_Now!_"

I feel the hitch in the man's breathing as he sees the cold promise of death in her eyes, and feel his grip slacken as he considers releasing me... but before his hold loosens enough for me to get free, Meeran turns on him, almost spitting with rage.

"You cowardly clot of whore's piss! She can't get to you before you kill the elf, and she knows it. But you let that knife-ear loose and I will _flay you alive and make you eat your own worthless hide!"_

The hands on me tighten abruptly, and now the point of the man's blade digs into my throat, not yet enough to draw blood but not far off, and very close to the artery. I freeze, hardly daring to breathe, burning with rage at feeling so helpless.

Meeran turns his gaze back on Hawke, who glances desperately at me before turning back to him. "Now then. Mages can't hold titles, you up jump little doglord," the bastard sneers. "Even a whisper that there is magic in you will be enough to convince the Templars to take you, no matter your wealth or 'nobility'. _If_ they hear it from the right people."

Hawke gazes at him coldly. "It will be my word against that of a Lowtown mercenary thug."

Meeran grins. "I didn't say _I'd_ be telling them. I've got respectable types owing me a favour. And if that's not enough to convince you, my lad's still got your little whore at knife point. You so much as move a hair's breadth towards me with that blade, she's dead. And I'll send for the Templars." His grin slides into a sneer and he takes a single threatening step towards Hawke. "Drop it."

A moment of agonising silence as Hawke silently measures the distance between herself and the man holding me, calculating hurriedly and then...

I see the light go out of her eyes as she realises she cannot reach me in time to save me.

She looks at me, beseeching apology deep in her eyes, and I gasp with an almost physical pain as I realise what she is about to do.

"Oh Hawke, no," I whisper. I shake my head, trying to deny what is happening. No! I will not let her suffer to save me! We can get out of this! I try to struggle but the man tightens his hold, gauntleted fingers digging painfully into my arms. Vainly I try to summon my mana, but the magebane all around us renders my power all but useless and what little remaining mana I have is far too slow to respond.

"Merrill, stop," Hawke says quietly. "I can't let you be hurt."

Vigilance trembles in her grip as she slowly lowers the sword, looks at me sorrowfully, and then tosses it despondently to the ground at Meeran's feet.

"Hawke..." I sob, as the awfulness of our situation closes my throat. "No..."

Hawke meets my eyes with calm resignation, giving me the ghost of her usual warm smile. "It will be alright, Merrill." She turns to Meeran, on whose grizzled face a triumphant, leering grin appears as he grabs her sword up from the ground and passes the prize to one of his men. "What do you want?" she asks him in defeat, her voice toneless, her expression bleak.

No...

Meeran reaches her in two quick strides and grabs her, tying her hands behind her back with a coil of rope from his belt, chuckling horribly at her gasp as his foul, magebane coated touch drains her even more. He twists his fingers into her hair, gripping tightly, wrenching her head back so that she is forced to look up at him. He grasps her chin in his other hand, filthy fingers digging into her cheek.

"What do I want?" he growls, the satisfied sound of a hunter sure of the kill. "Well, little mage girl, as I said, I want your talents, your skills, your magic on my side, but first..." His hand leaves her face and slips down her neck, one finger tracing a line along her collarbone before slipping down further, laughing as she shudders at his touch. "I want you. _Now_."

Hawke's eyes close tightly, the glint of a tear slipping down one cheek, and my heart freezes in horror and shock.

He wants... oh gods, no, _NO!_

My scream of outrage is cut off abruptly as a gloved hand is clapped over my mouth, and I buck wildly against my captor's grip but it's no good, I can't break free! I feel a small trickle of blood drip down my neck where the man's knife pricked me in my thrashing, and then armoured arms close about me even more tightly, gripping me so that I can hardly breathe, let alone move.

Meeran watches my struggles with obvious amusement. "My lads will mind the little whore while I'm taking my time with you," he growls into her ear, grinning as wide blue eyes meet his with fear and horror. "Oh, now. I see what you're thinking, but don't worry, you have my word on it the knife-ear won't be touched." His grin widens, as his grasping hand finds her breast and squeezes. "Not if you're a _good_ girl..."

Hawke glances desperately at me. At Meeran's nod, the man holding me drives the point of his blade into my throat, drawing more blood and a gasp of pain from me.

"Your options are limited, mage," Meeran sneers. "You're out of magic, and your hands are literally tied. And I'm not a patient man, remember. You better decide if you're going to co-operate quickly."

Hawke glares at him, her eyes filled with hate. "You'll get what you want from me, you bastard, as long as Merrill isn't hurt," she says harshly. "But you won't live to regret it if you so much as spill one more drop of her _blood_."

My ears prick as Hawke places unusual emphasis on that last word, her eyes flicking meaningfully to me, and I look back at her, perplexed. She holds my eyes for a long, intense moment, then pointedly lets her gaze drop to linger on the blood trickling from the fresh cut on my neck.

I blink, and then try not to let it show as I catch Hawke's unspoken suggestion. The blood... of course! Its power will be undiminished by the magebane... but she can't really mean she wants me to use it... can she?

I give her a questioning look, and she gives me a sad sort of smile and an almost imperceptible nod, as much as she is able with the bastard's fingers still tangled in her hair. My eyes widen. She does! I... I never thought of it, I haven't used the power in so long, but it's the only thing that might help us... but can I do it without using my mana at all? I can't think how to begin to try. And there are so many of them! Can I even hope to defeat them all? I reach for the power in my blood, trying desperately to gain control of the slippery dark tendrils of magic without mana to guide me, but the cursed things elude my grasp. _Creators, help me!_

Meeran grins horribly, not noticing our exchange, then rakes his men with his feral gaze. "No one hurts the elf without my say-so," he orders. "Keep her here, while the mage and I... have a little _fun_." Ribald laughter echoes about the group of men, and Meeran pulls Hawke closer. "See, now? Your little rabbit will be fine. You, on the other hand... you'll be sore and sorry by the time I'm done with you. Think of it as a punishment for making me wait for so long." He pulls her head back further, smiling at her wince of pain, and drags his tongue down the side of her face, then grasps her arm and begins dragging her towards the opening of the dark alleyway behind them. Hawke stumbles backward with him, unable to completely stop herself resisting, delaying the awful moment when the darkness of the alley swallows them and he can...

Mythal, I can't let that happen! No, oh no!

I struggle harder to use the blood, reaching desperately within myself, trying to harness the power as Meeran drags Hawke further into the alleyway. If I can't do it, if I can't reach the magic in my blood, Hawke might think she has no choice but to let him hurt her... let him... Unless she has another plan... but she'd never risk letting me come to harm to save herself, I know her too well, and that means if I can't do this, then... Meeran will... he will...

No, Creators, oh Mythal, oh _gods_!

I strain, reaching out desperately with all my strength, diving down, down into the depths of my soul, fighting past the foggy tendrils of magebane to the once white hot core of my magic, now so dim and dark from exhaustion and that Dread Wolf-cursed potion. But a small flame still burns, and I grasp that tiny tendril of light with all my heart and will, using its faint power to tap into the magic in the blood still running from the cut on my throat. I hiss in satisfaction as the deep, ancient force pours through me, awakening the slumbering magic rushing through my veins. Oh... Blessed Creators, the power!

Without another thought, I focus my mind on the man keeping me hostage, bearing down with my will and boiling the blood his body, trying not to think of the horror of what I am doing. He gasps and releases me, clutching at his chest, stumbling back and dropping in the dust, his body convulsing in time with his screams as his fellows gaze at him, frozen in confusion as to the source of his distress.

**_Me._**

I feel my lips pull back in a grim snarl of triumph. They don't know I'm a mage and so can't know I can work with blood, let alone that blood magic can work without mana. With the element of surprise on my side, maybe I_ can_ do this! I turn on the Red Iron man holding Vigilance and crook my fingers, beckoning him as I reach out to his mind, bending his thoughts. His eyes widen and go dark as I exert my will over him, and he raises Vigilance, walking towards me. Another mercenary yells encouragement, thinking his friend is trying to stop me. The look on his face when the man simply hands the blade over to me without a fight would be funny if it weren't for the danger we're in.

"Thank you," I say politely, and then deal my helpful thrall a heavy blow to the head with my staff, felling him like an oak.

With Vigilance in hand, my blood magic is even more potent, the ancient power protecting me from the insidious influence of magebane. I can easily tap into Hawke's stored mana without it simply draining away. Using another's magic in place of your own is still difficult, and I only manage it now because of how intimately I know her. Her mana fills me with warmth as I gradually pull some from the blade, suffusing me with her strength and light, and I send a bolt of pure spirit energy straight into the heart of the nearest Red Iron grunt, killing him instantly.

Meeran has stopped just inside the alleyway, keeping a tight hold of Hawke as he turns to see what the commotion is. He curses violently when he sees me free and armed. Hawke grins fiercely, relief and pride in her eyes, and she tries to pull free of Meeran but he swiftly draws a dagger, pressing it to her pale throat.

One spear-wielding thug keeps his head enough to try and grab hold of me again as two of his fellows try to help their fallen comrades, but I slash at his wrist, knocking the spike-tipped rod from his grip as he clutches at his arm. Swiftly I bend to pick up the spear, whirling it about like my staff as I skip back out of range, putting myself in the middle of the circle of mercenaries, slashing about with the tip and keeping them all at a distance with my new weapon in one hand, and Vigilance in the other.

"Durnham! Harris!" Meeran shouts, waving at two of his men, who glance at him, and then warily at me. "Bloody get control of her, will you? It's just one bloody little elf girl! Take her!"

My eyes meet his in white hot fury. "Take_ this_!"

I blast him off his feet with a thought, sending him flying down the alley away from my Hawke without stirring so much as a hair on her beautiful head. He thumps heavily on the ground and lies still, dazed for a brief moment, before slowly trying get back up. I rush to Hawke's side, tucking my spear in the crook of one arm as I cut her bonds carefully with Vigilance's razor-sharp edge, thrusting the arcane sword into her hands as she turns to face Meeran, struggling to his feet at last.

"Thank you, love," she murmurs quietly over her shoulder as we stand back-to-back, me keeping the rest of the Red Iron at bay as Hawke turns to Meeran, defying him.

"You didn't really think it would be that easy, did you, you grizzled old badger?" she taunts him, as though this was precisely her plan all along. Maybe it was, even, though she couldn't have been sure my blood magic would be enough, not if I wasn't sure. I think she is trying to make him angry. He looks to be the sort that's more likely to make mistakes when enraged. "I will_ never_ let myself fall under your power again, you whore-spawned bastard! You can do your worst."

I hear the snarl in Meeran's voice as he answers her. "Oh, I will then, mage. I'll make you regret your first breath!" The hiss of steel reaches my ears as Meeran draws his other dagger. "Change of plans, boys, this bitch is too much trouble. Kill the Fereldan mongrel!" he orders his men furiously, then grins, locking eyes with Hawke. "But keep her little pet knife-ear alive if you can, and we'll have some fun with her once her doglord mistress is dead."

His men glance doubtfully at each other, giving me wary looks. I call lightning into my hands, enjoying their fearful faces perhaps a little too much as they hesitate.

"What's the matter?" I taunt them, unable to help myself. "Afraid to fight a little elf girl, are you?"

Hawke weaves her blade in an elegant, practiced dance through the air, surprising them - and me, a little - with her unexpected display of skill. She must remember more of her early lessons with her father than she let on; that, and her innate affinity for swording will help us a great deal in this fight. Add to that the range that the longsword and my blood magic gives us over these men, most of whom clearly usually only fight dirty with daggers in close quarters, and that may just give us the edge we need to win. Or at least get out of this with our lives, long enough to go for help. Oh, if only we were closer to the Hanged Man!

One man breaks the circle of his hesitating fellows at last and rushes in, giving a harsh, angry cry as he slices at Hawke with his daggers, trying to get under her guard. She snaps out an agile, booted foot and kicks a knife from one hand, bringing Vigilance in low and slashing across his midsection, the tip of her exquisitely sharp blade slicing through his rough leather armour and biting deep into the flesh beneath. He screams, clutching his mortal wound as she turns the blade and takes his head, finishing him quickly.

The air is deadly quiet for a moment, filled only with the sound of Hawke's harsh breathing as she stares at the body of her assailant, eyes wide with the same stunned disbelief I can see on the faces of the Red Iron mercenaries all around us.

"Get her!"

Meeran's furious command breaks the shocked silence, giving way to the angry howls of his men as they leap for us at once. Hawke and I stand back-to-back once more as they come from all sides, mad eyes and daggers flashing in the dark around us. Swiftly I freeze the first three men in their tracks before they can reach me, and keep the others back with a wall of fire, my blood magic spells drawing the energy from my own life force instead of my mana. Grimly I bear down with my will and blood, rending my frozen victims apart from the inside before I turn to face my next foes. The dawning fear in their eyes gives me no pleasure, but neither will it inspire my compassion. We can't let them walk away. They know we are mages. They've seen my blood magic.

They tried to hurt Hawke. I will not let them live.

The sounds of clashing steel ring out behind me; Hawke is holding her own. Even in the middle of fighting I can't help but notice how naturally good she is with the blade. And she hasn't even begun training with Aveline yet! A mercenary with a lot of broken teeth tries to flank me in my moment of distraction, and I deal him a blow with the heavy wood of my spear, then tangle the other end in his legs and bring him down. He tries to rise, and I send a bolt of lightning shooting through the shaft of the spear, pressing the metal tip to his throat as the crackling energy jolts through into his body. The ordinary wood of the spear blackens in my hands, unable to handle the magic as a staff would. As it bursts into flame, I hurl the burning length of it into the group of men coming toward me, scattering them so that I can pick them off one by one with balls of fire until I can see no more men left to fight.

A gasp of pain from behind me pulls at my heart, and I spin frantically around to see Hawke fending off two men at once with her blade, a long gash in the fabric of her sleeve showing crimson leaking through. She's hurt!

"Hawke!"

"I'm alright, Merrill," she calls hurriedly, hooking a lithe leg around an opponent's and tripping him the way we learned from Isabela, keeping him down with a swift kick to the head as she brings Vigilance to bear against his fellow. "Watch your back!"

I smile a little._ I'd rather watch yours._

I put my back to the wall of the alley and try to take the pressure off Hawke, casting spells right and left. Mythal, how many men does Meeran have? There seems no end to them! I spin as I see a blur of movement from my right, shooting a stone fist into the chest of a charging mercenary and dropping him. Shaking with tiredness, I use my blood to call to the earth beneath him, sucking him down and swallowing him up, knowing his screams as the earth closes over his head will return to haunt me in the night, but I don't care just now. I cannot afford to. This is survival.

I look for Hawke, and find her surrounded. Terror and dismay war within me at the sight, and I start forward determinedly, laying about with fire and lighting, trying to get to her. A sudden fierce feeling of foreboding jolts my heart, and I turn to see Meeran, who has stayed out of the fight until now, suddenly smash a smoke flask at his feet and vanish into the confusing press of bodies around Hawke, who does not see him, too busy keeping her attackers back with her sword and a dagger grabbed from a felled opponent.

"Hawke!" I shout in warning, then gasp in horror as my attempted warning provides the distraction Meeran needed, my eyes meeting hers just as he appears from the throng behind her and plunges a dagger into her back. Her cry mingles with mine as she arches her back in pain, and Meeran's men close about them in a circle, the ones closest to me keeping me at bay with their blades. The rest lower their weapons, watching their master as he wrenches his blade from Hawke's back and sinks it into her stomach, pressing his body to hers as he stares her in the face with a look of twisted pleasure. The bastard twists the blade.

Her cry of pain rends my soul apart.

I scream in rage and anguish as I try to get to them, but more of Meeran's men surround me, trying to hold me. I strike at them with ice and stone, aware of Meeran kicking Vigilance from Hawke's hand, hearing him laugh as she tries to stab him with her belt knife which he grabs from her too, setting her own blade to her throat as he wrenches her head back, licking her cheek.

Outrage burns within me, fuelling my fury into a murderous wrath. Drawing blood from the bodies of the slain around us, I carve into the minds of every second man, turning him on his fellows. The yells of fear and confusion only add to the chaos as the Red Iron begin fighting amongst themselves, killing each other instead of focusing on Hawke and me.

And Meeran.

I glance around, searching for Hawke through the battling mercenaries. There! My heart swells with rage when I see Meeran speaking into her ear as he fondles her breast before throwing my wounded lover to the ground, delivering a terrible kick right into her bleeding middle. Mythal, I have to get to them!

The fighting around me is too thick, too dangerous to push through and I can't waste any more time killing them all. Hawke needs me, now! There's only one thing I can think of that might work, if I can do it. If it doesn't kill me...

Meeran kicks Hawke again, grinning as she cries out in agony. Screaming with anger, I call on my courage and summon what little power I have left in my grasp, concentrating with all my mind on a spell I have never cast before, am not trained for, not ready for, but it is the only way I can get to her quickly. I push down a wave of terror as I sink rapidly into the ground beneath my feet, fighting not to scream as the darkness closes over my head, light and air replaced by dark, cold nothingness as I move through the earth, hoping against hope that I can guide myself accurately, that I have the strength to come back up again, knowing that I can, that I do, I must, because Hawke needs me, and suddenly I am popping out of the ground like the daisy Varric named me, right behind where Meeran stands gloating over his victim, oblivious as his men kill each other around him. Coldly, I help the rest of them along, using their blood to rend them apart from the inside. I don't let them scream; I don't want Meeran to see me coming. He doesn't notice as the last of the Red Iron fall to the ground. Too absorbed in torturing my soulmate to notice his men are all dead.

Wretched shemlen bastard.

I come up slowly behind him on silent feet, slipping my belt knife into my hand as I draw close enough to hear him taunting Hawke as she lies on the ground, curled about her injury with her eyes closed tight.

"...should have just come back to me, you little mageling whore," the beast is saying, running his finger gently along the blade of his dagger in an almost loving caress. "This isn't the blade I wanted to impale you with. You remember, sweetling. But I'll take what I can get." He chuckles horribly. "A shame to waste a well-formed creature like you, but I suppose I will have to take no for an answer. There's a first time for everything." I can hear the disgusting leering grin in his voice at those words and snarl silently, gripping my blade tighter as he nudges her roughly with a boot. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, girl!"

Pain-filled blue eyes open slowly as Hawke looks up at him, then widen slightly as she sees me behind him. I nod to her, lifting my blade as I come closer, and she looks back at him, a quiet strength in her face even as she lies helpless before him.

Meeran doesn't notice, crouching down and raising his dagger over her heart. "Say goodbye, Hawke," he tells her, a grin in his voice.

As I lower myself silently to a knee behind him, Hawke lifts her head to meet his eyes, taking him aback as she smiles at him. "Goodbye, Meeran."

I raise my blade. One quick stab.

The hard grey eyes widen in shock as the blood begins to pour from the big severed vein in his throat. He clutches at his wound, choking as he tries in vain to stem the crimson flow. I push him away from Hawke, watching as he coughs and writhes and finally falls still, then turn back to her. She is half lying on the filthy ground, clutching her bleeding abdomen and gazing at her dead tormentor, a look of grim relief on her face.

I drop down beside her, wrapping her in my arms. She leans against me, her breathing laboured, her eyes fluttering closed. I hold her close, feeling the blood from her wounds on my hands, cursing Fen'Harel that our clothing is already too blood-soaked to rip into bandages. "Hawke?"

She opens her eyes after a long moment, resting her head against my shoulder and smiling up at me. "Nice spell..." she manages to say. "That... underground thing you did. Didn't... didn't know you could... do that."

"Neither did I, until just now," I tell her wryly. I wasn't ready for that level of Keeper magic, certainly, and I wouldn't have tried it if her life hadn't been in danger. By all rights I shouldn't have been able to do it, and would have simply buried myself alive. But I see no need to tell her that now. She'll only worry. "But I'm glad I can."

Hawke gives a faint laugh that turns into a cough halfway through. "Me too. Thank you, Merrill."

I cup her cheek and kiss her gently. "No need, Hawke. Come on. We need to get you some help."

I leave her for only a moment, to collect our scattered belongings. Vigilance is no longer glowing when I retrieve it; all the mercenaries must be dead, and there is no immediate danger around us for the moment. Faintly I can feel the power humming through the sword. Hopefully if we get away from all these magebane-coated bodies, Hawke can take back some of her mana and heal her wounds. Returning to Hawke's side, I help her stand, biting my lip at her agonised gasps as every movement tugs at the wounds in her stomach and back.

"Should we go to the Alienage?" I ask Hawke worriedly. I should go for help, it would come sooner, but I can't leave her here, not alone, and not with these dead men.

She shakes her head slowly. "Gamlen's," she gasps out, her voice pained. "Closer to... Hanged Man. We can... get Varric or... Isa...bela..."

Hawke can barely stand. I take as much of her weight as I can, helping her as we slowly make our way to her grumpy uncle's house. I feel some of my mana beginning to replenish as we leave the magebane's area of effect.

"Can you feel your mana returning?" I ask Hawke, who stumbles a little, taking a moment to form a reply.

"No," she breathes, her heart pounding fast as she leans on me. "The magebane... on Meeran's blade... must be in my system. I won't get it back... for a while."

I bite my lip worriedly, my heart in my throat as I see how pale her face is getting. She's losing a lot of blood. And when I try to give her strength with the small amount of power I have regained, the magebane inside her blocks me. She needs a healer, fast. She has no mana, and I can't help. We didn't bring any elfroot, which might help. Anders might know a way to get around the magebane now, but if we can't get to him in time... We certainly can't wait for a Circle healer, if one would even be permitted to come, and even if they did, they would certainly want to know why Hawke's wounds are poisoned with magebane... I suppose a non-magical healer might do, but could we trust them not to pick up on the magebane too?

Oh, Creators, what will we do?

Finally, we reach the rough steps up to Gamlen's door. I bang my fist against the filthy wood, and try again harder when there is no answer. If he isn't here, I'll blast the door in and let Hawke rest here while I go for help-

The door opens inwards suddenly, just a crack not even wide enough to see through. "Who is it? It's the dead of bloody night," a gruffly irritated voice accuses. "I don't have any money or I wouldn't live here, would I? Bugger off and come back in the morning, or not at all. Can't a man have his sleep?"

"Gamlen..." Hawke says, her voice weak. "It's me. Please... let us in."

The crack widens and a crotchety, frowning face appears. "Blasted Andraste, what is it, girl? Do you know what time it is..." His steely eyes widen as he looks us over, taking in our dishevelled, blood-covered appearance. "Maker's breath! What happened?"

"We were attacked by the Red Iron," I tell him, all but holding Hawke up as her strength fails. "Please, let us in. We need help. Hawke's wounded."

"The Red... Meeran, that bastard!" Gamlen throws the door wide, concern in his eyes. "What would he want with you now, after all these years? You paid your debt to him."

Debt? I glance at him in consternation as he takes Hawke's weight from me, holding her gently in his arms.

Hawke breathes out slowly as he lifts her, fighting the pain. "He wanted me... to work for him again..." she murmurs, not looking at him. "I declined."

He shakes his head. "Well, never mind that now. Come on, girl. You'll be alright." He carries her inside, leaving me to close the door behind us and follow as he goes into his room and lays her down on the bed.

Hawke stifles a moan as he puts her down. I kneel by her side, watching her anxiously.

"Do you have any bandages, or towels, or anything?" I ask her uncle, who is hovering over us, looking uncomfortable. "We need to stop her bleeding."

Gamlen grabs a few mostly clean rags and things from a drawer, bringing them to Hawke to stem the flow of blood from her wound. He hands them over to me, and I nod my thanks and turn back to to the bed.

"How bad is it, ma vhenan?"

"I... can't see inside myself," she replies softly, craning her neck up and probing gently at the wound on her abdomen with one hand. "The cut... on my back isn't bad... shoulder blade turned the knife... didn't go too deep. But this... all I can tell from... where the wound is, the amount of blood... and the..." She gives a wry smile, drawing a laboured breath, "...the fact that I'm... not dead yet is that... that the dagger thrust missed my vital... organs... and the big artery. Not... not a mortal wound... if we get help soon."

"Why don't you just take care of it yourself?" Gamlen asks, watching as I fold a towel under the wound on Hawke's back, and press a wad of rags to her bleeding midsection. He wiggles his fingers awkwardly. "You know... magically."

"We're drained of mana," I explain. "Meeran and his thugs used magebane on us, and the weapon that caused this was coated in it, which means the wound is as well."

Hawke nods a little. "I need... the wounds cleansed... before it can be healed. Elfroot potions..."

Gamlen shrugs. "I can't afford that sort of thing. Haven't got any here." He offers her a grim half-smile. "Bloody magic. Seems like more trouble than it's worth, eh?"

Hawke glares at him. "It can be... when certain people go around telling everyone about your magic."

"Come on now, niece," Gamlen retorts, raising his hands. "I needed to give Meeran and that smuggler elf good reason to take you on. They never would have gone for it if I hadn't sweetened the deal by telling them of your... abilities. Besides, I only used it as a last resort to convince them to give you a chance. They both had enough blades already and needed a better reason to cough up all that coin it took to get you all inside the city. You'd never have gotten in otherwise, and then where would you be?" He crosses his arms, gazing at her belligerently. "Besides, what could you have done for them besides magic? You might be carrying round a fancy sword for some reason, but you're not a warrior, girl."

"No..." Hawke replies softly between deep breaths, laying her head down on the grimy pillow. "Not yet... But it's becoming more and... more obvious it would be a bloody good idea... if I were."

Gamlen shakes his head in confusion at her words, looking doubtful, but before he can irritate her with more questions I look up at him.

"Gamlen, Hawke needs help," I remind him. "Could you please go to the Hanged Man and find a dwarf named Varric and a pirate woman named Isabela and tell them what's happened, please? Tell them we need elfroot potions, and that somebody needs to go get Anders. They'll know who Anders is," I very nearly snap when he opens his mouth to question me. "Please, Gamlen. While time is still on our side."

He nods, moving to the door. "Right. Anders and elfroot. I'll remember. I know of that half-dressed pirate wench well enough," he adds with a grin over his shoulder as he leaves the room. "I'll be all too happy to talk to _her_."

I shake my head, listening to the front door close behind him as he hurries out. "An interesting example of your race, that uncle of yours," I comment wryly, swapping out a blood soaked rag for a clean one... if such a word can be applied to anything of Gamlen's. Eurgh.

"Same old Gamlen." Hawke gives a small chuckle, which turns into a pained gasp. I lay a hand on her head, gazing at her in concern.

"Ma vhenan?"

She smiles at me. "I'm all right, for now. Just hurts."

I nod, feeling helpless. "What can I do?"

She lays a hand over mine where I'm pressing down on her wound. "Keep putting pressure here, just as you're doing..." She grimaces, flinching as her wound pains her. "And keep... keep me awake until help arrives. Keep me conscious as long as possible."

How should I do that? A song? Stories? No, they would be more likely to lull her to sleep, surely. I'd best just talk to her, make her respond to me. I ask the first questions that come into my head.

"Who was it that attacked us just now? Who was that Meeran man to you?"

Hawke is silent for a moment, a muscle working in her throat as she composes her response. I sit still beside her, one hand applying pressure on her middle, the other softly stroking her sweat-dampened hair.

"He was the leader of a mercenary company... called the Red Iron," she answers at last. "When my family first came to Kirkwall during the Blight, Carver and I had to work for him... to pay our way into the city."

That's the debt her uncle mentioned, then. But... "You mean, you had to work for him and not get paid?"

Hawke nods. "Yes. Gamlen couldn't afford to pay the bribes to get us in, so he... made arrangements with Meeran, sold our talents and labour to him." She stays silent for a few moments, catching her breath before going on. "If Meeran paid for all of us to get into the city, Carver and I... were his for a year."

"You were his?" I repeat numbly, and then pause as my mind drags another awful revelation out of her words. "Wait... sold?" My eyebrows rise, and I feel a dark cloud of anger rise within me. "Your uncle _sold_ you?"

"Into indentured servitude," Hawke says, giving me a faint smile. "It's... not quite as bad as it sounds."

"It sounds like slavery," I tell her, frowning darkly.

"It isn't meant to be..." she replies quietly, a sad look in her eyes. "An indentured servant is only kept for an agreed upon period of time, usually to pay a debt; they know they will be released from bondage eventually. They are not supposed to be treated badly during that time. But that year... for us, it was closer to slavery, I think. That would have been bad enough, but..."

"But there was worse?" I finish quietly for her as she trails off. A hard lump of coldness starts to form in my belly at the lost expression on her face.

"There was," she answers at last. She takes a breath. "To get them to take us on, Gamlen told Meeran I was a mage, to make me seem more useful. But of course, in doing so he gave Meeran a lot of power over me... knowing I was an apostate. Power that he used as often as he could." She swallows, looking away. "I'm still not certain Gamlen really thought about... what the consequences were for me. Revealing such information to a stranger... putting my life and freedom in his filthy hands..." She sighs. "It's been... something of a... contention point between us ever since."

"How could he do that?" I all but cry in outrage. "Just tell him your deepest, most dangerous secret like that? He could have gotten you killed, or captured by the Templars at the very least! And to tell such a man such a secret... Mythal!"

"I doubt if he really... thought about it like that," Hawke says after a moment. She is breathing easier now, perhaps getting used to the pain. I'm not sure if that's a good thing. "He was trying to help... the best he could. It was foolish... but, well, he's a bit of an idiot. At least he'd be the first to admit it." She grimaces as I replace another bloody rag. "And I did have a choice. There was Meeran, or there was Athenril, an elven smuggler. We could have worked for her, instead."

"Why didn't you?" I ask gently.

"I would have preferred her over Meeran, in hindsight," Hawke admits. "But we met with her first, and... while I felt that she would be safer to work for, since as a smuggler her secret and mine would cancel each other out, in a way... Aveline did not like the idea of Carver and I being complicit in illegal work, and Carver wasn't too happy." She takes a breath. "So we met with Meeran and well... Carver was far more interested and enthusiastic about joining the Red Iron... and since mercenary work is legitimate, Aveline felt more comfortable. I didn't have a good feeling about him, but the others were happier with him... at least, at the time, so..."

I give her a sad, knowing smile. "You did what seemed best for them, and not for you. As you always, always do, my love." _No matter the cost to yourself_, I add silently.

Hawke shrugs one arm a little in response, closing her eyes. She does not reopen them. "I suppose..." she says, her voice sounding faint.

Oh, my Hawke. I can't let her fall asleep, she told me so. And the attack... the things that awful man said and did... I have questions I have to ask her, painful as they may be... "But you repaid your debt to the Red Iron, didn't you?" I ask, stroking her cheek to make her open her eyes and look at me. "It's been years, Hawke... he didn't really just want you to work for him again, did he?"

Her gaze drops. "He said business had been slow," she murmurs. "I suppose it was partly my magic that he wanted again. I was very... useful to him."

I bite my lip. "He wanted to... to hurt you," I say tentatively. "The way he was talking... it sounded as though he used to hurt you before... that he used to... to..." I take a shaky breath, afraid to ask, but needing to know. For her sake and mine. "Hawke, did he...?"

Hawke closes her eyes tight for a moment, and turns her head away. "Yes," she says after a long moment, her voice small.

I sit silent, my throat closed tight with pain. He hurt her. He hurt my Hawke! How could he get away with it? I take her hand and hold it tight as she tells me of the horror she used to live, of the pain and humiliation he visited upon her throughout that year.

"He would use magebane, so I couldn't fight him," Hawke whispers, her fingers clutching mine in a death grip. "If I resisted, he would threaten to reveal my secret to the Templars, and have my family arrested for hiding an apostate. It was a real threat. None of us had any standing at that time, and with the way the Circle here is operated... those who attempt to hide apostates are treated almost as harshly as illegal mages. I couldn't let him reveal us. I couldn't..." She takes a shuddering breath, and looks at me, tears shining in her eyes. "No one knows. My brother never knew, though he didn't trust Meeran after he learned what kind of scum he really was. Carver would have attacked Meeran if he knew all that he was doing, and then the Red Iron would have killed him. I couldn't let that happen. Meeran kept Carver away on jobs when he wanted to... he never let him see. And Aveline took a job with the guard not too long into that year, so we didn't see much of her. I knew she thought I was unhappy... but there were lots of reasons for me to be so. I don't know whether she suspects the truth, but I didn't tell her. I couldn't. I couldn't risk Meeran telling the Templars about me..." The tears run down her cheeks, and I stroke her hair, feeling anguished tears of my own hot on my face. "Then the year was over, and we were free. Meeran let me go. I think he was... bored of me by then." The shame in her voice makes my heart twist. She gazes at me, eyes big and dark with sadness. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about any of this, Merrill. I didn't want to keep anything from you. I just... I wanted so badly to forget. Can you understand that?"

Yes. Oh, yes, I can understand that. I still have nightmares of what almost happened to me, that night in Lowtown. And that was nothing compared to her own suffering. She saved me from worse. I wish I could have saved her from this. All I can do is be there now to help her through. I nod, squeezing her fingers. "I understand, Hawke." After a brief hesitation, I ask; "Does Leandra know about it?"

Hawke shakes her head, eyes wide. "No. No, she doesn't. I couldn't tell her. I didn't, couldn't, tell anyone at the time because of the threats Meeran made. I couldn't find a way around him as long as I owed him, and now... it would only hurt Mother to know what I suffered to keep them all safe. Please, Merrill... don't tell her. Don't tell anyone." I begin, softly, to suggest that perhaps Leandra ought to know, at least, but Hawke shakes her head again. "Please, Merrill. Meeran is dead. He won't hurt anyone anymore. I just want to let it go."

"Alright," I tell her after a moment, wiping the tears from her cheeks. The beast is dead, that is true. But after hearing this, I wish I could kill him again, more slowly and much more painfully. "Leandra won't hear of it from me. But I want you to know you can tell me about such things."

She smiles tremulously, and nods. "I know I can talk to you. I know that, but... I feel that every time I tell you about something like this... I take away a little of your joy in the world. Like when I told you about how I got the scars on my hands... what those children did..."

I swallow my sorrow and pain for the moment, because she needs kindness and quiet and calm right now, not an outburst of outrage and anger on her behalf at the awful viciousness of the world. I bend, kissing her forehead and then pressing mine to hers. "It's best to talk about such things, sometimes," I tell her gently but seriously. "And don't you worry about me. You know I am no child. I know there are horrors in the world. But you bring me more joy than I could find in all of Thedas, even if I searched all my days. I will always be here for you, ma vhenan. Always."

* * *

><p>At last, Gamlen returns with Isabela in tow. Thank Mythal, I'm not sure I could have kept Hawke conscious for much longer. Hawke's uncle shows our pirate friend into the room, then settles down on a chair in the corner, trying to look as though he's not staring at Isabela's chest. He's not doing a very good job.<p>

"Hawke!" Isabela gasps at the sight of Hawke's blood covered form on the bed. She drops down beside the bed, across from me. "Who did this? If they're not dead yet, they very soon will be," she promises, a hard look in her golden eyes.

"They're dead," I assure her grimly. "Did you bring elfroot?"

Isabela pulls a flask of the stuff from her belt and hands it over. "All I had on me. I hope it's enough for now."

I uncork the flask, holding it to Hawke's lips for her to drink. She drinks down half of it in a few gulps,

"Varric's gone to get Anders." Isabela rifles a gentle hand through Hawke's hair, smiling at her. "He's running as fast as his little legs can carry him. Will you be alright 'til he gets help?"

Hawke nods, giving Isabela a weak smile in return. "I'll survive. Thank you, Isabela."

"Anything for you and kitten, sweet thing." Isabela's expression grows serious. "What happened to you two? Who did this?"

As I put the rest of the potion to use, cleaning Hawke's wounds with it as gently as I can, Hawke slowly tells her about Meeran's attack, though she leaves out a few details such as the bastard's abuse of her, making it seem as though Meeran's violence and hostility stemmed from his desperation at losing business and Hawke's refusal to work for him again rather than anything more sinister. Isabela's eyes burn bright with satisfaction and pride when she learns that we defeated a whole company by ourselves.

"And you did all of that half dead from exhaustion, and drained of magic to boot," she says wonderingly, shaking her head a little. "That, I would have loved to see. Of course, if I'd been there with you, I would have been too busy sticking my daggers in their eyes to see anything with my own. But that's damned impressive, girls."

Hawke grins at me. "You should have seen Merrill. She was amazing!" I blush, ducking my head and concentrating on swabbing Hawke's wound without causing her more pain. "I lost count of how many times she saved my life tonight."

Isabela squeezes Hawke's hand, giving me an affectionate look. "That's my girl. I'm sorry you got into such a mess, and I wasn't around to help, but I'm glad you're both alright. Is there anything else I can do?"

"Could you go and find Aveline, if she's on duty?" Hawke asks. The potion has put back some of the colour into her cheeks, and it's not so hard for her to speak now. She looks so much better already! "If it's not too much trouble. She'll need to be told sooner or later, and this way maybe she can get her guards to clean up the bodies before sunrise." She manages a faint grin. "There are rather a lot of them, and it wouldn't be very pleasant to step out of your door and trip over a corpse."

Isabela snorts delicately. "Not exactly an uncommon occurrence for Lowtown citizens. But I take your point. I'll go find Big Girl, or whoever's her second tonight if she's off duty." A smirk plays over her full mouth. "If she ever _does_ go off duty." Isabela kisses the tips of her fingers and places them on Hawke's forehead, ruffles my hair as she walks around the bed and heads for the door. "I'll be back. Sit tight 'til Varric drags Anders here."

I examine Hawke's wounds critically, noting happily that the elfroot is slowing a lot of the bleeding. "That looks better, ma vhenan," I tell her, lifting her hand gently to my lips and placing a soft kiss on her knuckles. "How are you feeling now?"

"Better, love," Hawke says, her eyes tired. "A little thirsty."

I stand and look at Gamlen, watching us from his corner. "Do you have any water?"

He shrugs and gestures lazily to the main room. "I've got a pitcher out there somewhere. Might have something in it."

I roll my eyes a little. Right._ I'll get it then, shall I?_ "I'll just be a moment, Hawke." I kiss her cheek, mindful of her uncle's avid gaze, and go in search of the pitcher that may or may not contain water.

Gods, this place is a mess! I bet it wasn't this dreadful when Hawke and her family lived here. I scan the room, but can't make out anything even vaguely pitcher-shaped in all the odds and ends lying about everywhere. Why wouldn't he keep his water somewhere he could easily get to it? Sighing, I begin searching, keeping an ear on the goings-on in Gamlen's room. Not that I think it likely that Hawke is in immediate danger from her wounds anymore, but still, better safe than sorry.

I hear creaking and footsteps as Gamlen gets up and crosses to the bed, but nothing after that. Curious, I glance over my shoulder, peering through the open bedroom door. Gamlen is... sort of half sitting on the bed next to Hawke, dabbing awkwardly but gently at the beads of perspiration on her forehead. Hawke's expression is a combination of uncomfortable bemusement and wry appreciation. I smile a little to myself. He really does care about his niece, for all his grumpiness. It's sort of a sweet moment, really.

A sweet moment that Gamlen quickly ruins, of course. "So, I hear you've been playing house with that little elf wench?" he begins, looking askance at Hawke and cocking his head in my direction. I glance quickly away before he sees me watching them, still listening to see how he can possibly make things more awkward. I move around the room quietly, noticing a half-full water pitcher and a mug on an upturned barrel pretending to be a table in the corner. Grabbing them, I move closer to the door, peering carefully around the frame, not wanting to be seen. But I can't help but be curious about what will come out of Gamlen's mouth next. And how Hawke will react to it...

Hawke is frowning at him. "She's not a 'wench', Gamlen," she corrects him crossly. "Her name is Merrill. You know that."

"I know, I know, didn't meant to offend, girl," he says, waving a careless hand. "Didn't know you were into elves is all. Takes all kinds, I suppose." Oblivious to her glare, he leans closer. "The two of you are the talk of Lowtown, you know. Those Dalish don't really wear clothes, right? Nice!" Ignoring Hawke's look of shock, he grins. "What's that like, then? Two women? I've always wondered..."

"That is most certainly none of your business, uncle," Hawke snaps, cutting him off angrily. "What difference does it make that Merrill is an elf? And I'll not have you talking about her like that again, do you hear? She deserves your respect."

His only reaction to her outburst is to raise his eyebrows a little and widen his grin. "You're the image of your mother, glaring at me like that," he chuckles.

Hawke glares at him harder, and I decide to come back in very quickly.

"Found it!" I announce, smiling at the two of them, trying to behave as I would if I hadn't heard their conversation. I might fool Gamlen, at least, since he hardly knows me. Other than as "that little elf wench, apparently. I suppose I might be offended if I didn't sort of expect that sort of thing from him already. I know he doesn't really mean any harm. As Hawke says, he just doesn't really think. I pour a mug for Hawke and help her lift her head to sip at the water. "Here, ma vhenan."

Gamlen rises, stepping back a little, and then stands awkwardly by the bed, unsure of what to do with himself, I suppose. "Gamlen, do you think you could possibly go and tell Leandra what happened?" I suggest gently. "I know it's a long way to Hightown, and it's past sunset and all, but would you mind? Tell her not to worry, Hawke will be fine, but we won't be able to move Hawke until Anders comes to help her."

"And tell her not to worry about coming here," Hawke adds. She grins at me and I smile back; we both know Leandra too well. "If she insists, tell her we both said it's needless. We'll be coming back to Hightown as soon as I can be moved safely."

He nods, obviously eager to have something to do. "Alright, I'll go. Maybe wait with her awhile, if she likes. You'll be alright?" At Hawke's nod, he moves to the door. "Alright. If I'm not back before you leave, be sure to lock up. I may not have much, but what I've got I'd like to keep."

Once we're alone again, I smile at Hawke, hiding my concern at the shadows of pain and exhaustion in her eyes. "Your uncle's not so bad, really," I comment lightly. "He doesn't mean any harm with the things he says, we both know that. He's just..."

"...the way he is," Hawke finishes for me, and sighs. "I know. But I wasn't in the mood to listen to him talking like that about us. About you."

"He might have been trying to take your mind off things, in his way," I suggest. "He does care for you at least a bit, you can see that for certain." I take the rag he'd been using to sponge Hawke's forehead and wet it a little, wiping her face with it, paying particular attention to the place on her cheek where Meeran licked her, then kissing the spot to erase it completely from both our minds.

"I know," Hawke concedes. "For all his flaws and mistakes, he does try, sometimes." She raises a hand and cups my cheek. Her skin feels a little too hot. "How are you, love?" she asks, looking me over.

I smile at her concern; I'm not the one lying on a bed with holes in me. "I'm fine, ma vhenan. Don't you worry about me."

Her eyes remain worried. "You're not hurt? Are you tired? Is your mana recovering at all?"

I shake my head to the first question, nod a little to the second, and reply to the third. "Yes, a bit. Slowly, but it's coming back to me now. How about you?"

She shakes her head, grimacing. "No, not yet, really. The magebane got into my blood when I was stabbed. It will take a while to dissipate. My mana will begin to regenerate after that."

"Is there anything I can do, ma vhenan?" I ask, adding hurriedly, "I mean, I know I'm not good enough to heal this properly, but..."

Hawke gives me a smile brimful of love as I my words falter. "You could do it, Merrill. With guidance, and at your full strength, yes you could do it," she tells me firmly. "But not as tired and drained as you are now. That is asking too much of any healer." She is silent for a moment, biting her lip a little as she does sometimes when she's thinking. "Though there is something you may be able to do, until Anders gets here. If you feel up to it."

Well of course I do! Anything, for her. "What is it, Hawke? If it will help, I'll do it, of course I will!"

"You can slow down the bleeding further, perhaps even stay it altogether until Anders gets here. That would help a great deal. Do you remember how?"

I nod, but then hesitate. Controlling her blood flow... that's dangerous. I could stop her heart if I don't do it right. I want to help, but this is a much worse wound than I've worked on before, and Hawke doesn't have the strength to guide me. "It's just... the Keeper always said that when it comes to healing, if you don't know what you're doing you can do more harm than good, and this is much worse than a cut finger or a bump on the head or a small hurt like that..."

"Merrill, it's alright," Hawke assures me. "You've done this before. It's just on a bigger scale. I can't help you with my magic, but I can talk you through. I'll guide you as much as I can." She smiles. "But if it helps, think of it this way. You would never hurt me, would you."

It's not a question, not really, but I answer anyway. "No! I couldn't, Hawke, I'd never hurt you."

"There you go, then," Hawke says, as though the matter is settled. "See? You can't fail."

I smile despite myself. "Ma vhenan, I don't think it quite works that way."

"Just try to think of it like that. It'll help, I promise." Hawke pats the side of the bed next to her. "It's better if you're comfortable. You might have to do this for a while. Ready?" She lifts her good arm invitingly.

I smile, and climb onto the bed, lying down carefully beside her. "Alright, my love."

She wraps her arm about me, and I place my hand carefully over the clean rag on her wound. She arranges my hand so the tips of my fingers are touching the unbroken skin around the gash in her middle.

"You only need a little contact," she tells me. "A practiced healer at full strength may not necessarily need it. But since you've not got much mana at the moment, physical contact is needed. Is the wound clear of magebane?"

"I think so." If only we had some lyrium too. Oh yes, and if wishes were Halla, my clan and our aravels wouldn't be collecting dust on the side of a godsforsaken mountain. Probably.

I reach out with my mana like she taught me and search with my awareness until I find her inner core, a small flickering ember of magic where the burning fire of her power would usually be, under normal circumstances. It is enough for a connection though, and I slip much more easily than I thought into the fabric of her being, matching the rhythm of her heart and gaining control of the flow of her blood without much difficulty. Carefully, I impose my will on it, keeping it flowing about her body and preventing it from flowing out of it anymore.

"That's it," Hawke murmurs in approval, her voice worn out but proud. "You just need to keep that up now, until Anders gets here or for as long as you can safely manage. Are you alright?"

I nod, too wrapped up in what I am doing to answer verbally. A few minutes pass in silence as I grow more confident in my ability. I_ can_ do this!

"What's that you're saying?" Hawke's tired voice breaks into my concentration a little, though I don't waver in my task.

What was I saying? I... didn't think I was saying anything...

"Was I speaking?" I ask in surprise. Could I have been focusing too hard to hear myself? "I don't know what I was saying, I didn't know I was talking at all." Creators, how embarrassing! "What did it sound like?"

"It was elven, I think," Hawke replies, her brow wrinkling a little. "Mel... melava inan... ena... something. I don't know, you were whispering. I couldn't really hear. It just sounded as though you were reciting something."

Oh. Of course. "_Suledin_," I murmur. Endure. An appropriate wish, given the situation, both for my poor hurt Hawke, and for myself in my current task. Not surprising I would choose to recite that poem, even though I was unaware that I was doing it at all.

Hawke looks at me patiently, waiting for an explanation. "I was reciting a poem called _Suledin_," I tell her, pleased to find that I can carry on with controlling the flow of her blood quite easily now, and speak without losing concentration. "It means 'endure'. As the name suggests, it is about enduring and emerging from sorrow in general, but more specifically it was written about the loss of the ancient lands of the Elvhenan. But we often use it to speak of personal struggles as well."

"Do you think you'd mind reciting it for me?" Hawke asks quietly. "I'd like to hear it."

I nod; the rhythm of it certainly seemed to help my concentration before. And I do enjoy sharing my heritage with Hawke. "Of course, ma vhenan." My voice grows calm and soothing as I begin:

"Melava inan enansal  
>ir su araval tu elvaral.<br>U na emma abelas  
>in elgar sa vir mana.<p>

Lath sulevin  
>lath araval ena<br>arla ven tu vir mahvir  
>melana 'nehn<br>enasal ir sa lethalin."

Hawke smiles as I finish. "I love the sound of your voice even more when you speak elven," she murmurs, half to herself. "What does it mean?"

"Well... It doesn't really translate into this language very well. At least, not with the level of knowledge of our lost language that my clan possesses. Perhaps other clans can interpret it with different or deeper meaning, but I will try." I think for a bit. "Roughly, I can translate it as:

Time was once a blessing  
>but long journeys are made longer<br>when alone within.  
>Take spirit from the long ago<br>but do not dwell in lands no longer yours.

Be certain in need,  
>and the path will emerge<br>to a home tomorrow  
>and time will again<br>be the joy it once was."

"A strong poem," Hawke says softly, and smiles. "It doesn't sound quite as nice in our tongue. Elven words are far lovelier."

"It sounds even prettier as a song," I tell her.

If Hawke were a mabari, I would swear her ears would have perked right up at that. "A song?" Her blue eyes widen, a hopeful look in them. "Merrill... will you sing it for me? Please? While we're waiting for the others to arrive?"

Ah, well I walked straight into that one, didn't I? How can I resist those eyes? Well. It will help to keep her awake, at least, if I teach her and get her to sing it too. And after all, I would do anything for her, wouldn't I? Lucky for me that I'm not all that shy about singing, not really. In front of a lot of people, maybe, but not my Hawke. Besides, a Keeper should know all the old songs and stories that the clan can remember, both for the rituals that call for certain songs and because they contain the history of our ancestors. That was the part of my training that I liked best of all, I think, learning the songs and tales of our people. And... not that I could ever bring myself to say so out loud, but... I think I have a pleasant enough singing voice. Mahariel used to say so, anyway.

And I would love to hear the way Hawke's lovely, melodious voice sounds when raised in song, not to mention one written in the language of my people. That in itself would be a magic I cannot describe in words.

"Oh, alright," I give in to her, smiling at the very sweet, very child-like look of pleading on her beautiful face. As her eyes light up, I hold up a finger. "On one condition; you let me teach it to you, and then you accompany me. I don't want to be the only one turning red with embarrassment when Anders and Varric walk through that door to see us lying here singing to one another like lovesick fools."

Hawke laughs softly, and nods in agreement. "I accept your terms. Let's give Varric more fodder for his stories."

I sing, softly at first, and Hawke simply listens, her eyes glowing with delight. Soon she begins singing with me, haltingly at first so that I can correct her pronunciations. Teaching her the song actually helps my concentration as I work my healing spell, to my surprise, and soon we are singing together.

I knew her singing voice would be beautiful.

When Anders and Varric come in we hardly notice, though we do stop singing once we become aware of them watching; Anders scowling and Varric smirking that little secretive smile of his that means what he sees will soon feature in one of his stories. Hugely exaggerated of course. I don't mind this time. He can make it into a silly tale if he likes; it doesn't matter. All that matters at this moment is that Hawke will be well, in time. Physically, now that Anders is here to help us, yes, but more importantly, she will be well in spirit. And that, I know, is due to her own inner strength, and the strength she finds in me. I saw the dark memories clouding her lovely blue eyes fade as we sang together, as the joy of music and the love between us pushed back the shadows. And as she gazed at me, her countenance filled with love and light and laughter, I knew that the two of us together can... well, we can do just about anything. Things will always come right in the end.

As long as we have each other.

* * *

><p><em>There we go. Hope it's still an enjoyable read. Thank you for reading, and for all for your reviews, and for favouriting and following! I'll be back with another chapter sometime after my Dragon Age Inquisition excitement wears off, probably inspired with more fodder for my own stories ;p<em>

_DRAGON AGE INQUISITION! WOOO!_


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